It was a long corridor and a long walk.

What was it?

Thirty minutes?

...An hour?

No, it must have been five.

The sensation of time in here was greatly screwed up, but White simply progressed regardless, and eventually he found the light at the end of the tunnel.

It was like a wall of sorts, with light slipping out from claw marks that were drawn on it.

White stopped before it, observing the strike of the mark.

It was in the shape of a spiral, and raising his hand up, he traced that circle.

He could imagine a creature standing up and spinning its massive claws around to form the image of a spiral.

His hand fell when he finished tracing, and in the next moment, turned down.

Surprisingly and unusually enough, there was a knob on the door, human-like, and White’s hand reached it, pulling it back.

CLINK!

The clear sound of unlocking rang out, and he stepped in.

Before him was a place he could understand:

A bar.

Yes, the type where men used to drink.

There were single seats all around, a couple of round tables, and at the far end there was the counter where the bartender would be.

It wasn’t barren. There were a couple of half-drunk bottles on the tables, though on the serving table, it was absolutely clear of any drink whatsoever—just dust from the passing of time.

So they gather together and drink.

White thought to himself, before his eyes turned to the serving desk.

He walked over to it and bent down slightly to the drawers behind the table.

Pulling on the knob, what he saw made his eyes narrow.

Claws, fangs, bones in unique colours.

They were the majority of things that filled the wooden cupboards.

He pulled open more and more, but all he found was the same thing.

Turning to the cupboard behind him, he found wines kept safe and free of dust, unlike the rest of the room.

He moved away from the serving area, eyes turning around.

There’s got to be another door here somewhere, but there was nothing.

Just the same simple deserted bar, and that feeling that never really left.

That feeling as if something was watching him.

What it was, he didn’t know, and the direction it came from, he couldn’t pinpoint.

It was like this entire room had eyes, looking at every action of his.

Something he had read before in his past life came to him, and in the next moment White quickly turned to one of the chairs before the serving table.

He walked towards it like any other person and took a seat, hands in hands, with a tired sigh on his lips, imitating another old weary traveller.

"I’d like a shot of Piuknasa."

It wasn’t a random name.

It was the name inscribed onto the glass of one of the drinks that was in that cupboard.

There was silence at first, but then White’s lips curved, and he raised his head up to the side.

There behind the counter, a presence was growing clearer and clearer, and soon enough, something materialized.

RIIIIIP!

The air shook heavily as two massive black wings ripped out of White’s back, heading towards the presence.

They cleaved through it, but nothing happened.

It was like cutting through air.

White didn’t repeat the action, watching as the figure further solidified until its features were clear.

It was a man... a muscular man in a suit of black.

A bow tie, the sleeves of his wrists wrapped around his veiny hands.

He radiated a gentlemanly aura that barely contained the wild savage aura rippling out from him.

His body was in a ghost-like state, and he pulled open the wardrobe, taking out the exact drink that White had ordered.

A cup was picked from the lower shelves, cleaned with a handkerchief, before the shot was poured.

White didn’t understand at all.

If the person before him was a ghost, how did he grab onto a physical bottle and a cup? How did he hold a handkerchief and clean?

With silence, he did his thing, pouring the wine into the cup before spinning it toward White, who caught it in his palm.

"That’ll cost two hound fangs."

He said, finally turning his face to White.

He was a man, a full-grown man around the age of forty with gelled dark hair.

His face was angular and as sharp as a blade, and one of his eyes, the right one, was white in colour, as if blinded.

On it there was a line that traced it down to the side of his ear.

White could imagine a sharp blade and the man quickly dodging his head to the side, but never fully avoiding the attack.

"Two hound fangs... why so expensive?"

White asked, stirring the cup before him, the liquid rolling inside to form a slow spiral.

The man picked up a cup from the wardrobe below and began to clean.

"We were already out of business. Your forcing will cost extra."

He said it like he was stating a fact.

"You know what?"

White asked, as he brought out something from his pocket.

It was exactly two fangs.

He had stolen a handful for safekeeping when he had opened that wardrobe the first time.

"Here you go."

White said, sliding him the two fangs, before sliding one more.

The man paused at the sight of three.

"Tell me why you went out of business."

White asked, watching the man pick up two of the fangs.

"We only sell drinks."

He said, but then another fang rolled across the table, landing by the side of the first fang to make two.

"This is a bar. Everything is for sale, and what is for sale comes with a price."

White said with a humorous smile.

The bartender paused, a bit of hesitation in his eyes before it eventually came.

"It’ll cost you ten fangs..."

he said, and eight more fangs rolled across the table.

"Deal."