6. Rukh

Ifind myself drawn to follow the human girl in the days after our battle. She persists in wandering the woods, seeking her unknown foe. A fruitless errand that will only lead her to peril, yet she does not abandon it.

She possesses no real skills for survival. Her meager attempts at foraging often leave her hungry. When night falls, she shivers in whatever crude shelter she can assemble until dawn. Yet never does she turn to vengeance against those who cast her out.

Shouts and cries draw my attention. Investigating, I find her defending a wagon from a couple of lowly bandits. She stumbles her first spell and outright misses her second. A curious creature indeed.

“This is where you die then, little one,” I muse to myself, watching in morbid curiosity. Yet despite all odds, she remains resolute. Recklessly resolute, but resolute nonetheless, managing to conjure what I assume is supposed to be a fireball. After taking one bandit out, the other scurries off. I watch, my lips twisting into a smile, impressed by her courage at least.

But the elvish farmer emerges, shaken and enraged. You witch! he shouts, jabbing an accusatory finger. Youve cursed this land. My crops are ruined! And bandits and brigadiers right outside our door! Curse you, wretched, demon-kissing whore!

Annette remains stoic throughout his tirade of blame. She has saved this wretch from harm, nearly at the cost of herself. Yet he vilifies her for troubles beyond her making.

As the rocks and stones he throws at her bounce harmlessly off her pathetic energy shield, it’s apparent the words are passing right through, attacking her soft human mind.

She turns silently away as he continues to berate her. She looks… sad, and something warm twists in my gut. I consider pursuing and removing this peasants spiteful tongue. This strange creature has grown on me the longer that I watch her, and I find myself wanting to protect her from him.

But Annette would not approve of violence on her behalf, I’m sure. Her capacity for forgiveness astounds me. Among demons, such insults would be met with swift, brutal retribution. I find myself reflecting on the nuances that separate our kinds. She continues surprising me.

A storm rolls in an hour later, the skies unleashing driving sheets of rain. The frail human huddles beneath a tree, drenched and trembling. Watching her, a strange sensation stirs within my chest that I cannot name. She is weak and helpless. But determined.

I find myself moving before realizing it, using my powers to shield her from the worst of the storm’s fury. She starts at the magical barrier suddenly surrounding her, then glances about warily.

I remain concealed in the shadows where I belong.

The rain eventually passes. She moves on, oblivious to my aid. I tell myself it was only impulse, nothing more. A minor amusement. I have other matters to attend to. But still, I wonder if our paths will cross again. I can’t hope but help they will, even if I have to arrange it myself. I want more of her even if I can’t justify why, not even to myself.

I push aside thoughts of the pathetic little thing, turning my focus instead to the relentless craving that drives my kind – the thirst for dark souls. It has been too long since I properly fed the darkness within me.

At first, I watch the villagers with clinical detachment, sensing the shifts between light and shadow within their spirits. But as the night deepens, a slow rage simmers inside me. The more I focus on individuals in the crowd, the more darkness I uncover beneath their convivial facades. Their souls are choked with weeds of envy, pride, cruelty, and a hundred other sins.

There, a widowed seamstress whispers calumnies against her neighbors. A boy tortures beetles while his mothers back is turned. Merchants cheat customers with faulty scales and watered ale.

Deeper I look and see the blackened souls of spousal abusers, false pietists, and cowards who stood by in silence while innocents suffered. High and low, this village is a breeding ground of the wicked. Of all the wretched souls in this cesspool, one in particular draws my burning gaze. Its a crooked alchemist peddling ‘protective’ tinctures and charms. Lining his pockets with the savings of the poor and desperate.

Tonight, he hawks a foul concoction to a frightened young mother, claiming it will save her unborn baby from witchcraft. A cruel lie, for his worthless brew has already caused dozens of stillbirths and miscarriages when consumed by anxious mothers.

The alchemist calmly takes the womans coins and sends her away with false hope in a pretty bottle. He will move on before his fraud is discovered, leaving only tragedy in his wake.

Beneath his kindly facade, I see the ugly truth. I recognize a gnarled soul drunk on greed, indifferent to the suffering spawned by his avarice. He is the embodiment of everything that enrages me about these people.

My claws dig furrows in the earth as the urge to rend and purge rises within me. How can so many wear kindly smiles while nursing such darkness in their breasts? They do not deserve the gift of life!

With effort, I restrain my fury. I time my strike carefully, waiting until he has concluded his transactions for the day. My window to act undetected is short, but more than sufficient.

I follow him home.

He has no idea.

Just another score . . .

It’s hard to stop myself from taking him in the street. I race ahead to his home. Silent as smoke, I drift through the darkened streets, unseen by the few night wanderers still awake at this hour. He keeps no guard dogs or protective wards, overconfident in his safety amidst the very people he lies to. His hubris shall be his undoing.

At his locked door, I extend a single talon, drawing a precise sigil of opening upon the wood. The magical lock clicks obediently, the enchantment designed to repel human intruders but feeble against demonic power.

Inside, I glide from room to room, selecting the ideal location to conduct my work. The study, with its vials and bundles of dangerous concoctions, shall make for an exquisite backdrop when the body is found.

Settling into a shadowed corner, I wait, breathing slowly and steadily despite the eagerness singing in my veins. Soon my prey shall arrive, never expecting the predator that has crept unbidden into his lair this night. I lick my fangs in anticipation . . . Justice shall be rich tonight.

At last, I hear the shuffling footsteps and muttered curses that herald the alchemists return. The door creaks open and he enters, not even glancing toward my darkened corner. He is too self-absorbed in tallying the days profits to notice the silent predator already lying in wait.

I let him shuffle halfway across the room before stepping from the shadows. Long day peddling false hope?

He whirls, eyes bulging, and stumbles back. Whos there? His gaze darts wildly about before finally settling on my imposing form. I grin, baring my fangs.

What . . . what are you? he gasps. Beads of sweat stand out on his brow, but he is transfixed by fear rather than fleeing.

I stalk closer, claws clicking on the wooden floorboards. I am your reckoning, mortal charlatan. I have witnessed your sins against the innocent, and tonight you will pay.

He shakes his head frantically, still backing away. No, Ive done nothing wrong! I provide helpful folk remedies, thats all! Please, dont hurt me . . .

His pathetic sniveling both disgusts and amuses me. Does he truly think he can evade justice with such feeble lies? I flex my claws, ready to get to work. Oh, this will hurt a great deal . . .

The hunger inside me grows ravenous, primal, demanding to be sated. This wretched humans soul calls to my demonic palate, the flavors of greed and malice irresistible.

His pleas turn to shrieks of agony as I fall upon him, pinning his flailing body beneath my greater strength. My claws tear through cloth and flesh with savage precision, opening up lethal wounds that stain the floor crimson.

I relish his terror, the darkness within me feasting as life rapidly flows out in hot spurts. With my jaws, I rip his lying tongue out by the roots, silencing him forever.

As the final beats of his heart arrive, I extend my senses to their full demonic reach. There, beneath the cringing mortal shell is the dark, contorted soul I truly crave. I open my maw impossibly wide and suck forth his wretched essence, devouring his corrupting malice and deceit.

The last light fades from his eyes as I consume the final drop of his spirit. It sears deliciously down my throat. His crimes were many, but now his punishment is complete. Justice served.

I retract my blood-soaked claws and study my gruesome handiwork. None who discover it will mourn. This cadaver is merely the hollow reminder of a soul already sentenced and executed tonight. Balance is restored.