The tanned man in beige khaki strode with a confident gait, the corners of his mouth curling up only slightly, auburn hair ruffled by the wind, gave him the image of an amiable youth—anybody who saw him would commit the folly of thinking so. He relished at how he envisioned this place a few months from now, ruined, quiet and desolate. For a second he was baffled at his own schadenfreude, but that quickly fades, there is no doubt within himself, a conscience without a bottom line is inevitably clear.

  He passes by roadside cafés, the glass walls render him privy to a scene of jolly office go-ers enjoying their morning latte, with a dash of cream perhaps? Ofcourse those innocent souls hardly take notice of the sinister look in the waiter's eye or how the cashier's shirt protrudes abnormally at his sides, as if hiding a foreign object underneath.

  He knows how unassuming the folks of this place are, it is natural too. For people who have never experienced hell, their actions are hardly out of the norms.

  The man feels no remorse, its not his fault, he knows that. He is but a wave in the boundless ocean, even tsunamis are waves.

  As disastrous a wave that he maybe, he is not the tremor that caused the onslaught afterall. The violent tremor can be only be the sole credit of that almighty creature.

  'God', that is how they were hailed at first, but no God receives worships after turning their back on believers. The only surviving form of address left for them is naturally that of the devil.

  The name synonymous with that of satan, the name guilty of the worst form of treason, one who has no right to live. Such are the curses hurled at them, hurled by his colleagues. It is important to note that they harbour no personal hatred and neither does he.

  The god, during their reign, soared so high above and so radiant that those below dared not glance for fear of burning their eyes. Such a persona could hardly be a victim of interpersonal grievances, but throwing rocks at the beaten is a merry sport, one particularly dear to youths.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He never engaged in idle talk though, no..no as the God's evident successor, he has to be grateful for their convenient abdication of the throne. So grateful is he that he must show his sincere thanks—by sending them on their way to hell ofcourse. He had even prepared his weapon, to ensure their safe transit.

  .........

  36 Garyld's block: (averna's apartment)

  The morning sun seeped in through the terrace window. Last night was as terrible as my shitty luck could contrive. 'Worried' my——, the very fact that he thought such reason could sway me is a dishonour to my name. And what was even with that wierd coaxing tone.

  As my mind pondered over yesterday's tumultuous events, my face had unconsciously contorted into a disgusted expression, which I got to know of by courtesy of the earthquake proof mirror, which hung obliquely on the sooty kitchen wall.

  The fact that I had escaped from the Viscontini mansion unscathed from that lunatic's grasp was already a blessing though. Demons from the Axis are expected to act in their own demonic way, but partly owing to his pitiful state of affairs and partly due to the fact that anything ugly could hardly be associated with that face, I had forgotten how it takes a monster to deal with monsters. He had afterall, managed to evade the axis for so long while being the direct successor from the main family.

  Vittore was clearly lying, yesterday, and the times before that. By now, I suspected most of the things he had said to me were coated with a hint(or more) of false hood.

  From everything that happened in the past month, I recount a mental note of my conclusions

  ●The Axis has completely infiltrated this place

  ●Vittore's plan is far more complicated than what he told me, perhaps even elda and her brother are being lied to

  ●The Axis is at my heel, they have found me and think its convenient to kill two birds with one stone

  ○And, most importantly...the question that has plagued me for long What is the actual cause for which Vittore plans to use me?.

  Definitely not for scouting information, that much is clear and for that part he hasn't even enlightened me about that one precarious assasin he wanted me to work on, choosing to be vague despite the dire circumstances.

  I am a paranoid individual—of that I am fully cognizant but anybody capable of clear thought would be suspicious of getting paid while effectively doing nothing to deserve it, such selfless benefactors exist, but one cannot associate such an identity with that that man. The hefty check has been lying hapless in my mail, as useless as it is for me, surely the person sending it couldn't deduce so and even if they could—victims on the run should not have so much to spare. Given how their main source of income (their connection with the axis) has been cut off.

  Last night has left me brimming with questions, and that means I can't rest before finding some answers. With such thoughts in mind, I did what my paternal ancestors were profusely fond of and adept at—

  dancing with the devil, that is, in more colloquial terms going looking for trouble.