Demons

Almost in the same moment, a knock on the door sounded and a man opened it.

Four overlords of the city, with whom she had talked five days earlier, shuffled in. When Nayana had first learned there was a reward for the dragon she was chasing, they had at first, ridiculed her. Not only was she not a dragon hunter, but she was a woman. However, when she’d repeated the question about the reward and brandished her javelin, they’d confirmed the rumors about the impressive reward.

An old town councilor, thin, hunched and dressed in dark robes, came closer to the bed she lay in. The unpleasant smell of dirt and sweat reached her and she forced back a gag.

“Supposedly, you killed the dragon, miss” he spoke with an unpleasant, gruff voice.

She pointed at the sack with her uninjured right hand. The skinny man approached the parcel and reached inside. He took out the blackened, slithery dragon’s tongue, clotted blood darkening the rough cut end. One of small group of councilors shuddered with apparent disgust. The skinny man couldn’t pull his eyes off the slab of meat for the longest time. He finally shrugged then put it in the sack again. He wiped his hand on his robes.

The black material of his robes masked the dirt well. To Nayana disgust, it seemed the town councilor attached little importance to cleanness or hygiene.

“Where is the carcass?”

“In the clearing a quarter day’s march to the east,” the man who’d rescued her replied.

The town councilor nodded, obvious satisfied. He reached deep into his coat and pulled out a purse that jingled with, she assumed, coins. Unceremoniously, he threw the thick purse on to her bed.

Nayana picked it up with her right hand and weighed it.

“Here’s the price we agreed on,” the town councilor said in his gruff, dismissive voice and turned toward the exit. To Nayana, the man’s contempt for her was obvious. A woman dealing in a male profession was someone he held little regard for.

The others followed him out. When the door closed behind them, Nayana took the purse to her rescuer. He waved his hand, rejecting her offer, and sat down on the low stool in the corner. She didn’t insist.

“Then, let me thank you once again, sir.”

“Why did you chase this dragon, miss?”

She didn’t want to reveal why she was hunting dragons. “I have my reasons, sir.”

After ensuring that I was encased from shoulders to ankles like a mummy, I wriggled my arm free to drain the water. When I heard it tumbling down the drain, I wandered out of my bedroom and down the hall to the nearest guest room. It hadn’t been used in a while, but the last time the maid was over, she had changed the bedding.

I cranked on the heat and crawled under the blankets naked. Pajamas were an extra effort I was way too tired to indulge. When I closed my eyes, my breathing fell into a heavy rhythm moments later. Sleep danced on the edges of my conscious mind, casually closing in until I drifted off.

A surreal landscape opened before me and for the first time I could ever remember, I knew I was dreaming. Most of the time I simply accepted whatever oddity my brain threw my way, but now I felt like an intruder in my own subconscious, a voyeur who shouldn’t be seeing the things presented to me.

I saw a tempest brewing on the horizon and off to the right, a violent sea thrashed like a restless monster rousing from a long sleep. Dusty rocks surrounded me, the jagged edges bit into my bare feet. I was naked in these elements, the breeze tickling my skin, but it wasn’t cold enough to make me miserable.

I knew I should’ve put on pajamas.

A man came out of the storm, walking with a stiff, proud gait. He was armed with a wicked looking sword, which he held in his right hand, the tip pointed away from him. The blade was longer than my leg with a serrated top and curved edge.

He was still a silhouette, but I could make out some details. His body was covered by piecemeal plate armor. The left shoulder had a massive spiked pad where the other was bare. Boots came high and covered the knees in the front while wrapping low around the sides.

His long hair was caught up in the wind, flowing to the side like he was a living fantasy painting.

Wait, why is he coming this way?

It would take him some time to get to me, but what happens when he got here? That nasty looking weapon was not designed for cuddling. Was it meant for me or some other purpose?

Self-preservation suggested that waiting around to find out was a bad plan. I turned to flee and stopped so suddenly, I nearly toppled off the cliff behind me. The chasm yawned before me, the bottom lost to a swirling mist some dozens of yards down.

Why the hell is my dream so inconvenient?

I turned around to see how much progress my potential attacker had made and let out an involuntary scream.

He was standing three feet in front of me.

 

“Don’t you dare make a mockery of this army! You are a woman and a murderer.”

Korin gave him a condescending smile. “Am I? Well I didn’t notice much difference between you and me but as far as being a murderer, how could I deny that? I’ve bathed entire villages in blood.” She grinned at him and stared. “But maybe that mage would care to come back here and question me? If this was all so important that he convinced you to come out here, then why did he run away unless he was lying and knew I could prove it? Where are the people who say I’m a demon? The magi are forever cooking up stories to make themselves look important.”

Korin could feel the men bending under her persuasion. Their faces cleared of fear and all that was left was something Korin had never seen directed at her. It was the look Mogpaste used to give Master Sheed. Korin watched the men’s eyes shift from her to their leader. His brow creased uneasily.

“Curses! You lowborn son of a dog-eating pig-raper! I’ll have you punished for insulting me at the very least! Fifty lashes, and I’ll give them to you myself! We’ll see what’s under that breastplate of yours.”

Korin shrugged like it was of no concern to her, but she felt sweat break out on her upper lip and forehead. “You wouldn’t be the first man to want to disrobe me. I didn’t think that you were that kind of man.” Her smile was infectious and the guard behind the leader sniggered. “Then again I suppose it’s not surprising, considering that you’re under the control of the magi…I mean to say that you have a great respect for the magi.”

“You!” he screamed and launched himself at her.

Korin saw his body tense and danced aside as he came at her. He wheeled his arms to try to regain his balance. Korin couldn’t resist. Her leg snapped out and connected with his rear end. He bellowed like a herd-beast and landed in a graceless heap. Korin darted forward and kicked his ribs with her new stout boots, marveling at the added strength the tough soles gave her.

The man let out a squawk of rage and surprise.

“He attacked General Kayle!”

“Oh the gods! He actually bested the general.”

Korin froze. She had no idea the man was a general. She knew she was in serious trouble now. She turned and sprinted toward the tent city. Korin looked back and saw that her boot print was stark against the black cloth that covered his rear as he turned, screaming at his men.

She entered the tent city, but immediately had to slow her pace or attract notice. She heard the distant scream.

“Seize him!” General Kayle yelled in a shrill voice that barely reached Korin’s ears. She slowed to a walk, wondering what to do.

Ahead, Korin caught sight of Antiochus and a lithe man with powerful shoulders. Her spirit leapt toward them like a drowning man seeing land.

Even in her state of agitation, she noticed the surprising grace in the way the man next to Antiochus stood. One hand confidently rested on the hilt of the long rapier at his side. His pale, almost white-blonde hair brushed against his shoulders, and his head was held at an odd angle that made him look dangerous. Korin saw the reason for the tilt of his head as she neared. A black eye patch arched down to cover his mangled face, making him even more handsome.

The man smiled at her. “So this is the young man who is in the center of all this?”

Antiochus looked at her fondly. “General Daimos, please meet…”

Suddenly, something hard struck Korin right in the head. She tottered, but under her helmet, her hair and the turban she’d wrapped around it cushioned the blow.

“You treacherous, dung eating, public fornicator! I’ll never let you live after what you said! How dare you?”

He swung wildly, but he was too winded and too furious. She dove for him and his fist flew wide, narrowly grazing her shoulder but missing her face entirely. Her fist, however, landed smack against his long nose. His own momentum made the blow even more painful. Korin felt the distinct crack even through her bull-hide glove.

Blood poured out from General Kayle’s nose as he reeled backwards. He fell to his knees, cursing, but above the horrible cries, General Daimos’ laughter filled the air. The people that had peered out of their tents at the sounds of the struggle continued to gather surreptitiously.

“It serves you right, you flea infested weasel,” Daimos said, walking over to Kayle. He threw a glance over his shoulder and pinned Korin with his one blue eye. His grin was bright with rich amusement. “That was some fine work there, soldier. I can see why Antiochus values you.”

“You’ll regret this! Mark me!” Kayle screamed as he rose on his unsteady legs. He pointed a bloody finger at Daimos. “And you too. How dare you interfere? You and that wretched little mid-general!”

The group of seven wizards had locked hands, making them too powerful for the magi to defeat. They glowed with a greenish iridescent light as they enveloped themselves in a mist that made them invisible to human eyes. They walked forward toward the woman who could feel their approach. She began to scream.

The wizards on both ends of the hand-holding line held sacrificial daggers. This must have been part of their plan—the plan B, if the head sorcerer somehow lost his head. If they succeeded, Eblis would be restored to his power completely. Korin ordered her mount to descend, but she was quite far from them. Now Korin saw with a jolt of horror that in the confusion of the battle, Eblis himself had escaped. He shimmered briefly through his cloak of invisibility. Korin shuddered involuntarily when she saw his true form.

He was shucking himself out of the boy body, and as he did, his head elongated into an angular mask of rage. His skin was old—as ancient as parchment, but it glistened with putrefaction that would have left a corpse that long dead. His ears were mostly cartilage, and they were very long. Pointed at the top, the devil’s ears were pendulant on the bottom. He wore earrings made of human bones. The ear holes writhed with what looked like maggots, but as she looked closer, Korin realized that they were festering, squirming naked humans covered with the slimy effusion of death.

His eyes were black hellholes from which fires spiraled. Occasionally the burning arms or legs of some damned person could be seen thrashing about in hopeless pain. Bags of flesh hung from his eyes, making him look even more ancient and evil. His long, pointed nose was warted heavily and appeared like a pendulous, rotting gourd. The mouth of the beast was the most horrific. Thin, cracking lips surrounded sharp but decayed teeth swarming with creatures ranging from naked humans to insectoid creatures who fed on the humans, while the humans fed on the cheesy decay between the teeth.

Eblis walked awkwardly in a cross between the knuckle walk of an ape, and the dragging of a disemboweled monster. Indeed, his gut bobbed over the ground and his obscene genitals trailed a slimy track as he walked. His distended **** stuck out of the flat buttocks that hung loosely. Worms and maggots dropped from it as he made his way to the woman who struggled and screamed anew, although mercifully, she could not see Eblis’s real form.

Vorak thundered from his position in the army. “No! Korin, stop! Don’t approach that devil!”

Andre fell to his knees and drank deeply of the crystalline waters. The sound of the waterfall filled his ears with its thundering and a spray of water misted his overheated body. He thought he had never tasted anything so good before. After a while, his body ceased to tremble and he looked up. Directly under the torrent of water, stood a man with his back toward him. He seemed unaware of Andre’s presence, so loud was the waterfall.

Andre immediately looked away from the naked form, but that was only his first reaction. He stared now and saw that the man appeared to be well muscled and young. His tight buttocks led to strong legs, only half of which he could see, as the man was standing in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. Sparkling water cascaded off of his head making him look like a Buddha with his effulgence. The man stood under the water as if in deep meditation in the performance of the traditional Japanese misogi ritual of purification. Andre was riveted.

Andre stood and took a step, then thought better of it. The man was oblivious to his presence. It seemed unwise to disturb him, but this wasn’t the only reason for Andre’s paralysis. He wondered what the man’s face looked like. His skin shone with health. His hair was very long—so long, that Andre at first had taken him to be a woman, but even from behind, the man’s muscles removed Andre’s doubts.

As if suddenly aware that someone was staring, the man whirled and faced him. Although he was standing at some distance, Andre could see the man’s face first register surprise, then it became clouded with anger. The face was still lovely beyond anything he had ever seen before. The man’s eyes were large and expressive. His eyebrows were sharply defined bows. Although his features were almost chiseled, his full lips and delicate lines gave him a look that could only be described as beautiful. Beautiful in the elegant and exotic ways the features of some of the ancient Japanese aristocratic women were portrayed in court art. Andre stood with his mouth slightly ajar and his body frozen into inaction by the spectacle of such an attractive person. The man turned slowly and Andre lost sight of him as he made his way behind a copse of trees.

Snapping out of his reverie, Andre began to walk toward the spot where the man had retreated, silently practicing what he would say. The man was obviously angry, but perhaps he could explain.

In an instant, Andre felt it and turned suddenly. Although it had just been a moment, the man stood behind him, fully dressed in archaic traditional garb. He wore a long white kimono over which he had draped a dark blue tunic emblazoned with the crest of the ancient Abe clan. Andre had seen such a piece in a Kyoto museum not long ago. He wore the tall cap of the practitioners of Onmyodo yin yang magic. The man’s beautiful eyes narrowed by rage and his face looked like that of Fudo Myo-o, the Wrathful Buddha. Andre stared, unable to speak, but he was deeply embarrassed that instead of staying silent, his mouth worked as he tried to speak coherently while only cackling and squawking like a frightened chicken.

“Go away,” the man boomed. “Go away and never come back. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”