Demons of Desierto

Much like every day in every part of Desierto, the climate in the city of Bundstal was sunny and very hot. Sa’luk was walking through the streets, pondering around his missions while eating a rather tasty piece of kebab he had just bought from a nearby store. The Bazars in this city were nowhere near as full of luxuries or extravagant merchandise like the street of Naqqa, the rich capital of Desierto, yet they were still a hot tangle of small alleys, sprawling with costumers and stalls. Fortunately, they did also differ from the capital in their almost total lack of robbers; otherwise, trying to catch those bastards and had them return what they have stolen could have lured some undesired attention over him. As usual, he dressed in a way so nothing could stand out from the typical desert slum-dweller: he wore a shirt barely made of rags, his hair closed in dreadlock like ponytail to better endure the bite of the sunny days. The only thing that may have stood from his attire was his Sword of Fog, but he had it transformed, into an unassuming, porcelain bracelet with his glamour, so that none one may recognize him. And the fact that ancient, ungodly demon was constantly talking through that Sword of Fog: but fortunately, telepathy suited that purpose as well “''My, my. Do these streets feel even hotter and more boring than usual”. Cursan, the demon, whispered through Sa’luk’s mind. “At least the Kebab is substantially cheaper than in Raqqa. Do you remember those merchants from Raqqa? The prices they put there for those lurid cans of worms and spices are nothing less than a full extortion, a legal form of felony, I am telling you! If I were you (and, by intending that, I say If were actually in full control of your body) I would slit the throat and drink the blood of any merchant who would even dare to sell those junk to a poor soul under my sight!''” “Thank the gods you are not, Cursan”. Sa’luk thought back to his demon. “Since the only food you like is human or demon meat, streets would flooded by the desiccated corpses of merchant”. “Touché”. The demon responded. “D''o you have so little faith in my sense of justice, in all those years? Didn’t I murder only certified scum, my young friend? Did I failed even once to show an utter and perfect restraint to you? Unlike many of my brethren, I am demon with class, standards, honor and panache''”. Sa’luk wanted to enumerate all the circumstances when they almost got caught because he got too greedy on devouring people, but on a thing, he was right: Cursan has always acted faithfully on their mission, feasting only in the corpses of trash. A demon who has sworn to eat only other demons, whatever species they were of. Not most mentally sound or even pleasing companion, but a loyal one, nonetheless. Besides, it was the only friend Sa’luk had still got. “Then prepare yourself to get satiated, because tonight we have a meal of the most disgusting kind, really suiting your tastes”. Sa’luk looked above no him: no matter from where you turn your sight in Bunstal, you will always look at the White Minaret. The tower loomed over the entire city, a cathedral in the desert made by provincial landlords to challenge the might of Raqqa, and to have the slums dwellers always remember the superiority of the upper class. He found that sight beautiful, yet stinking of unbearable rottenness. The mold inside it had a name: Ja’af, members of the Thirteen Merchant of Bundstal, a bastard who made his fortune by having hundreds of slaves working to death in coal masks and delighted at the presence of prepubescent. Pure filth, waiting only to be devoured. “Are you thinking of Ja’af, aren’t you?” Cursan guessed. “''Sure, he is utter disgusting junk, more than worthy of being butchered. By why getting so excited at killing a mere provincial lord? Have already forgotten the day when you soaked the royal palace of Naqqa with the blood of the eleventh son of the Sultan, Basheen the Insane? Or when you butchered the Grand Moffat of the East Company and his twelve bodyguards in a single night? This guy is just a fly buzzing around a gigantic pile of blood and excrements. I thought you would settle for higher preys than this''”. “I know”. Sa’luk thought. “This is the only type of target we can afford in these days. If you remember well, we’ve got the Night’s Dagger and most of the Sultanate running on our tails. We must limit our activities… as for now”. “''For now… but you have no clue on when, or even if the “then” will come. I know this better than yourself. Killing those small fishes one by one more will take years even I can imagine, and thousands more will rise for everyone you squash. As fun and satisfying I found butchering those pigs, you should really think about a plan for your next future. None of the things you are doing now matters''”. “I know”, Sa’luk shouted, angered by the retort of Cursan. They were having the conversation so many times it had started to become nauseating. And the worst part, Sa’luk was thinking that Cursan was right, that he was wasting his life in an endless and meaningless crusade. However, stopping was not an option, nor he was seeing any opportunity on the horizon for leaving a real blow on the corruption creeping through the country. Killing people, for better or worse, was the only thing he knew to do. While he was pondering on those things, he heard some whispers and a cute mon. A little boy- he should have been no more than eight- was swooning over his kebab, looking it like it was the meal of kebab. Sa’luk smiled back to the back, and shared to him part of his meal. The little kid ate his part voraciously, thanking the assassin. Sa’luk did not mind, continuing his road. He was fighting every night for people like him, the poor with nothing under the teeth and barely a place to sleep under. Every murder Sa’luk committed, was to avenge the injustice they were suffering every day; every life he had been taking, it was to make their own life a bit better. That, for Sa’luk, had to make sense; it must have.