The Way, the Truth, and...(Destruction)

The star on the ceiling gave way to a dark void.
Lucifer pointed upward to the star, "You will learn your first lesson in Gomorrah."

"How do we...?"

Lucifer smiled paternally at his new creations. Their youthful ignorance was endearing.

"You have wings, Dunkleflemme. Fly."

He demonstrated with his own wings, flying gracefully around the gray room and landing in front of the pair.

"What about me?" Otiena asked.

"You have other means of three dimensional motion that you will learn later, but for now-"

He gently picked her up and placed her in Dunkleflemme's arms.

Dunkleflemme nodded, spread his wings, and took off. He was perhaps less graceful than his Creator, but impressive to watch, nevertheless.

They flew into the star-shaped void—and stopped. They were stuck in something that was as thick as honey. They looked down. In the place of the gray room a bloodred star now glowed. They looked up. The dark void revealed another red image, this one being of an outline of a tall wooden gate that many ancient cities used to fortify their entryways.

The two images began to close in. The demons' fear instincts had been designed in such a way that they could only fear what they learned to fear. They had no instincts to avoid being crushed, so they simply watched as the images got closer. The red star was solid, and pushed them through the palpable darkness and the malleable red gate into the cool night air of the desert.

They had landed in Gomorrah. More specifically, in an alley outside of a brothel that was located in the poorest part of the city. The brothel was a single story building with many small rooms. Over the door were pictures of the "treatment" that was available to the customers, as well as pictures of who could be selected to give the "treatment." The walls were worn and much of the clay mortar that had been used to seal the building had eroded away, revealing the poorly made bricks. The door was sycamore of the poorest quality, also worn with time and ill-use. The brothel was, however, the nicest building in this part of the city. The alley ‘floor’ in front of the brothel was well-beaten, making the dust that floated up from it fine and abrasive to the eye.

The young demons watched as a man with the mark of Cain exited the brothel, pulling a prostitute by her long, black hair.

"Payment? Greedy Whore! You should be so lucky. Your lot will burn in Hell for your thoughtless temptation," the man bitterly cursed in his ancient tongue.

The woman, who was bleeding profusely from her lower stomach, could but moan in reply.

"It hurts, does it not? Much like the pain you cause me every time you demand the very sweat and blood of my being."

Otiena was taken back by a flash, a brief glimpse into this man's life. There was very little sweat and blood that was poured into the payment he used for the brothels. Well, very little of his blood, anyway. He was a thief and a murderer many times over, constantly roaming the land in search of a contentment that would never come. He was a haunted man.

"Have you no consideration for how I feel? You treat me like any common man, but I am no commoner. I am a force-"

He yanked harder on her hair.

"-To be reckoned with. I will not be used by your kind anymore."

The prostitute sobbed, coughing up a stream of crimson blood.

The man kneeled down at her level, held her in his arms, and looked into her eyes, absorbing the fear and despair that one's final death throes ultimately bring about with barely contained glee.

The girl spasmed and choked, arching her back and trying with all her might to say...
…Instead, she focused her eyes for the last time and spit the red foam that she was drowning in into his face. Satisfied, her eyes glazed over and her body ceased to move.

The man softly kissed her blood-stained lips and gently removed her from his embrace. He stood up and turned to leave.

"I don't understand," Otiena said aloud, sensing Lucifer's presence within her mind, "Why do you want him?"

She indicated to Dunkleflemme to put her down and walked over to the dead prostitute, watching as her crimson blood continued to bubble out of her bright red lips. The woman, though past her prime, was still beautiful. Her big brown eyes gazed helplessly at Otiena as her black hair wafted gently in the soft, night breeze.

She hated this man. He had no right to destroy such beauty- to carelessly write off another's life.

He is a bad person, Satan said as if talking to a small child, He needs to be punished. I can punish him for all eternity for his evil, but I need your help. He has to want to come to me.

"How can I make him do that?"

Look at her. You know what to do.
Otiena looked over the girl's soft features, and then looked at her own body.

Yes, she knew what to do.

She began to walk after the man, watching as flashes of his despicable life flashed before her eyes. This was not the first to be killed. He did it rather frequently, in fact. No one cared. No one! What people were these that could breed and nourish such
malevolence?

Otiena tapped the man on his shoulder softly.

"Excuse me," she said, "I saw what you did."

The man stiffened, preparing to strike down a second life in one night if need be. He turned around slowly, calculatingly until he looked at Otiena and then at Dunkleflemme. His eyes darted back and forth wildly between the two demons. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He moved his hand slowly to his sash, readying himself to pull out the stick he used as a blunt cleaver at a moments notice.

Otiena smiled.

"You're right, you know. You shouldn't have to put up with these inferior, petty creatures that this city is teeming with. A man of your talents deserves to be recognized for who you really are."
"This is true, but what is you point?"

He looked the female demon over, absorbing her shimmering skin and barely covered smoke-shrouded body. Oddly enough, he didn't notice her face. He also noticed Dunkleflemme, and removed his hand from the stick in his sash, not wanting to provoke such a creature.

Otiena leaned in closely, almost caressing his bloody lips with her own sumptuous, ruby lips.

"I can help you. Give you anything you want. All for practically nothing."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

Otiena locked ‘eyes’ with him, revealing the black voids that separated her from the females he was used to abusing.

"Power, wealth, women you don't have to pay..."

She closed her eyes and began to play out his fantasy for him in his head, bringing out every detail with poignant clarity. He had lofty dreams of ruling many men and bedding any woman he wanted. He also wanted to do other things with women, but those should remain unmentioned.

"You can have it all. Everything your heart desires and more. All for one small price…"

Otiena hesitated, unsure of what that price actually was.

His soul, Otiena. His soul.

"Which is...?"

"Your soul...but only when you no longer have any use for it."

"Oh, that's all, is it?"

He considered himself a religious man. He believed in the God of his forefathers, as well as the gods of pleasure that Gomorrah revered. In his eyes, his actions were just and right. He rid the world of those who caused him pain or discomfort. Life, afterall, was about attaining pleasure. Is not pleasure enjoyed by the soul as well as the body?

"And this is true pleasure to you? Degrading yourself at the brothels? Surely you want something better. Let me help you."

"For the price of my soul."

"Once you are dead and gone. What good is a soul to you, then, anyway? It will have no physical vessel by which to obtain pleasure."

The man hesitated, considering her words.

Satan sent a large satchel of gold through the void they had traveled through. The bag hit the ground at Dunkleflemme's feet. He picked it up, and handed it to Otiena. The sight of Dunkleflemme's puissant stature was compelling in and of itself, but the gold certainly did its part.

"Alright. I accept your offer."

Otiena smiled seductively, all the while thinking of the red blood that flowed from the bodies of his victims.

"In blood, my friend. Seal the deal in blood."
"In blood?"

"Your blood."

The man tensed up again, sensing a trap.

Satan sent another item through the void and into Otiena's hand. It was a contract.

The contract was made of papyrus paper and written in ancient Hebrew. The letters and the borders were embossed in gold leafing and the wax on its seal had five small rubies in the corners of the pentagonal wax stamp.

Otiena broke the seal.
“I can’t read it.”
“You don’t need to. All it says is that when you are dead, your soul will belong to…the person I am representing. You don’t need to worry about who that is. In return, you will receive power, wealth, and all the women you could ever use.”

He ran his right hand through his hair, reluctant to sign something that he cannot read.

"Give me your hand,” Otiena said, touching his arm gently as he ran his hand through his hair.

The man reluctantly relinquished his left hand, guarding his more dominant one behind his back.

Otiena smiled, gently took his hand, and turned it palm side up. She scrutinized his hand for a moment before slowly moving one of her small hands across his palm and up along his Saturn finger. She bent her face to his finger, wrapped her ruby red lips around it, and bit the tip of his finger with her canine hard enough to draw blood...

"Sign."

"What? Oh, yes. Of course."

He moved his bleeding finger to the indicated line and signed. The name he placed there is now and forever cursed to be forgotten in the annals of mortal history.

"You know, with a fine heifer such as yourself by my side, my ascension to power would be much faster," he said, reaching for Otiena's small waist.

Otiena gracefully stepped out of the man's reach, allowing his hand only to distort the smoke that enshrouded her bodice.

"I assure you, that won't be necessary," she said, trying to hide her disgust, "Now, you are to take this gold and buy eighty head of oxen or better with it, as well as many exotic symbols of your 'well-established' wealth. The bag will forever be full of gold for you and your future heirs. It will be full of sand for all others. Once you have acquired your wealth, go to the officials of Gomorrah and say that you are an affluent nomad wishing to settle down in a city worthy enough to be called your home. They will be more than delighted to give such a wealthy man a place of high prestige that will conveniently become available very soon," she winked, "from there, a man of your talents should have no trouble accumulating power."

"That will take years!" the man protested.

Otiena smiled mischievously.

"My friend, it will take no more and no less than three days from the time the sun turns the sky red tomorrow to a great feast in your honor three sunsets later."

Dunkleflemme looked at Otiena in confusion, never having seen or heard of a sunset.

"Very well," the man said, taking the gold," Perhaps we shall meet again?"

"We will," Dunkleflemme said, stepping forward.

The man nodded bemusedly, taking the reticent demon's interjection as an act of possessiveness, and left.

"Now what?" Dunkleflemme asked, thoroughly agitated by the lack of information.

"We wait."
"For what?"

"For the right circumstances to reveal themselves."

He beat his wings arbitrarily, picking up dust and sand from the alley.

Otiena looked at him questioningly.

"What's wrong?"

"What is wrong? What is wrong is the fact that I have no clue what is going on. None. What is more, you seem to have it all figured out. Why am I left without any information?"

"Oh, that's what's wrong," Otiena walked to Dunkleflemme, "I can read minds. I can see people's thoughts. I read that man's thoughts. That is how I know more than you."

"So I am forever meant to be less-informed than you?"

"Does that bother you?"

He paused.

"Yes. It does."

Otiena smiled, and closed her eyes.

Dunkleflemme received images of everything that had just occurred from Otiena's perspective, as well as what Otiena had seen of the man's life and what she had been told by Satan.

"Well, now you know as much if not more than I do. You have three different perspectives on this night: Mine, yours, and the condemned man's. I am sorry I left your knowledge wanting, I will be sure to keep you better informed in the future."

"Thank you," he said, still annoyed. She could choose to inform him at her whim. His source of information was not encouraging.

"I heard that."

"Don't read my thoughts."

"Don't think so hard and the temptation won't be so great."

"You have a very unfair advantage."

"We are on the same team. How can you say I have any advantage, unfair or otherwise?"

"Are we on the same team? I didn't decide that."

This time Otiena was annoyed.

"Well, if you are uninterested in working with me..."

"I simply said I was undecided."

"Well, for your sake, decide quickly. I don't have to endure your indecisiveness any more than you my mind reading," Otiena said, walking away.

"Fine," he said, taking to the sky, "I won't."

They both parted ways for about three hours, wandering the streets and skies. Otiena walked through the alleys of the poor, often hassled by the men and jostled angrily by the women. The houses were packed, but not cozy. No one seemed happy here. Had Otiena truly understood what happiness is, she would have been disgusted at the display. Fortunately, she only had the perceptions of the restless descendant of Cain, and could walk through the streets with a sound mind. Dunkleflemme took in the city as a whole, wondering at the three strange walls that divided the city unto itself. What was their purpose? Finally, knowing of nothing else to do, they sought out each other, ending up right where they had left each other.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Dunkleflemme asked, landing quietly in front of Otiena.

"You may ask him yourself," she offered.
Otiena opened part of her mind to him, giving him a direct link to their Creator.

"Our next move?"

You must fulfill our end of the contract. In three days, he must be at a banquet dedicated in his honor and in a position befitting of his talents. That position must be open. You are to create that opening.

Dunkleflemme nodded.

"Who?"
Kesar Dumah. He doubles as a rather shady tax collector and a constable for Gomorrah's ruler. He uses his power to force married women into his chamber and taxes outrageously to supply both his and his superior's many perverted passions. He will not be missed.

"Will he be punished, too?" Otiena asked, her opinion of humanity quickly dimming.

Yes. He knows his perversions are wrong. He knows he is a base creature and revels in that fact.

"Where can he be found?"

Kesar Dumah can be found within Gomorrah's inner wall, in the eastern gate complex. He is approximately a hand shorter than you with a full, black beard peppered with gray. He wears extravagant, deep purple robes, as well as ostentatious gold jewelry. He favors rubies. He almost always has a woman on each arm. Most distinctive, however, is the 'perfume' he wears. The perfume consisted of saffron and calamus mixed in olive oil. He puts this amalgamation in a small but elaborate gold vial of which he places around his neck on a long chain. He applies this scent to his neck as a nervous habit--almost religiously.

Dunkleflemme nodded, taking in the description, and prepared to take off.

Wait. There is one more thing: you shouldn't be seen by most other mortals. It is just not good practice.

They looked at one another, unsure of how they would avoid being seen.

Otiena, you have the ability to project Illusions. You can use the Illusion to make Dunkleflemme appear invisible.

"How?"

Satan reached into Otiena's mind, searching for the small gland in the forelobe of the neo-cortex that controls her psionic abilities. The smoke from her eyes ceased to emit from her eyes and her body relaxed.

A second Otiena began to dance in front of Dunkleflemme to unheard music, oscillating her hips and moving her body much in the same manner as that of a flame.
This is how, Otiena. Can you feel it? Do you see?

Satan withdrew from her mind and the dancing likeness of Otiena dissipated into the cool night air.

Otiena opened her eyes, the black smoke emitting forth once more. She nodded. Yes, she could feel it.

You try.

She "closed" her eyes, and the wisps of smoke disappeared again. She focused on first trying to recall her image and then projecting it from the psionic gland, through the specialized nerves that translated her will into something projectable, and out of her empty eyes.

The dancing image of Otiena appeared again, although this time her movements were less fluid. Otiena smiled, pleased that she could learn her abilities so quickly.

Good. Now it is time for a new trick. Send the image you are projecting through Dunkleflemme's mind and relinquish your control to him.

Otiena set her jaw slightly. She didn't want to give up her new toy. It was hers...

Otiena...

Her shoulders slumped slightly and she nodded. She closed her eyes and sent the image dancing towards Dunkleflemme.

With the closer proximity, it was easier for Otiena to envision a loop that she held. This loop moved throughout her Illusion and back to her own mind's "hand." With this "loop" she entered Dunkleflemme's mind and met his own perception of himself. Having never seen himself before, Dunkleflemme saw himself more like as he had seen Lucifer, although he was blue and his wings were featherless.

Otiena walked over to Dunkleflemme's inner perception and roughly handed him the loop. Her form disappeared abruptly from his mind and the real Otiena sighed heavily at the realization that her image no longer belonged to her.

Dunkleflemme smiled, despite her sour disposition, and began to move the image. He was much more confident in how he manipulated the form and sent it spinning into a wild dance that eventually brought a smile even to Otiena's face. All was silent as they watched the form leap and twist in the dark alley.

Very good, Satan said, breaking Dunkleflemme's concentration and causing the dancing spectre to disperse into the night again, Let's try something else.

Both eyes lowered with disappointment as their new toy disappeared.

"What?" Otiena asked, still staring at the spot that the Illusion had been dancing in a few moments ago.

Another Illusion, but this one is nothingness.

Otiena paused, considering this request.

"Nothingness?"

Like the air in front of you.

Otiena closed her eyes, picturing the air. She then imagined becoming the air.

She opened her eyes and looked down. Where her body once was, an emptiness now prevailed.

"Like this?"

Perfect, he said with paternal pride, Now give it to Dunkleflemme.

She walked over to Dunkleflemme and grabbed his searching hand.

"Take it," she said, once again entering his mind. This time her image held a knife that she held at her wrist.

Dunkleflemme looked at her with bewilderment.

Otiena sighed, and cut her wrist. Instead of blood dripping forth, a silvery mist escaped and made its way to Dunkleflemme, entering him through his skin.

This mental transaction translated to Otiena shimmering back into existence as Dunkleflemme slowly faded away, shimmering out of sight much like the silvery mist that had entered his inner perception.

Now you are ready.

Dunkleflemme nodded, and opened his clear wings to the night.
Many ancient cities were fortified with tall, strong walls at its borders. The purpose of these walls was to protect the cities from foreign invaders and plunderers that roamed the shore of the Dead Sea and plagued the desert nomads like locusts. Gamorrah's need to defend itself seemed to border on paranoia, however. It boasted not one but three walls: the Outer Gate that encompassed the whole city, the Middle Gate that separated the poor from the artisans, and the Inner Gate that separated the artisans from the aristocracy. It seemed that Gomorrah not only guarded itself from outsiders, but it appeared to guard itself from itself.

Within the Inner Gate was all the luxury the desert had to offer. Outside its walls, the city was destitute. To compare, the entire wall and the buildings within the Inner Gate was constructed of bricks baked in a kiln. Most wealthy homes in other cities only had a foundation of the far more durable brick. Outside the Inner Gate, only the most well-to-do artisan could afford a foundation of kiln baked brick, and that was probably only ten percent of the entire Middle Gate community. The Outer Gate community generally had three families to one house. These houses only had poorly made sun-dried brick and were often patched by scrap wood, clay pottery, and cloth often made from the hair of their own or others' malnourished livestock. Only the residents of the Inner Gate complex could afford the coveted cypress wood to build their roofs and entryways. The Middle Gate complex had to settle for sycamore roofing and doors, and the Outer Gate took what they could get, often using cloth to cover their entrances. The strength of the kiln-baked brick allowed for the Inner Gate's buildings to have not one, but two stories. This was rare in and of itself, but on top of this second story, many buildings had an open "third story" made up of a lighter wood and palm thatch. The residents of the other two gates could only dream of such things.

The furniture of the Middle and Outer Gates was simple and sparse. The clay jars and bowls were often unpainted and chipped with day-to-day use. Their beds were often simple straw mats, and often, so were there tables. The furniture of the Inner Gate complex consisted of ornately carved couches with soft down cushions dyed in the deepest reds and purples. Their pots, vases, plates and bowls were ornate and often painted with beautiful designs by the artisans of the Middle Gate who opted to use the plainer version of their wares. The eating area was a raised, mortar, baked-brick and clay platform about two feet high surrounded by woven , over-stuffed woolen cushions also dyed in many bright shades of crimson and violet.

It was to this decadent Inner Gate that Dunkleflemme flew.

He landed on the gate and surveyed his surroundings. It seemed that purple and red were the colors of the time. Everyone had robes dyed with these colors. No one wore any form of white, for that was seen as a poor man's color, and indigo seemed faux pas.

Dunkleflemme watched as a man with a black beard peppered with gray and a stomach filled out with age and sloth stepped from the largest building in the complex with a giggling prostitute on either arm.

The prostitutes were clothed in fine purple robes cut shamelessly above the ankles and were conspicuously thin. They walked gingerly over the tiled walkway with naked feet and jingled with the movement of many gold bracelets on their wrists and ankles. They wore a matching red amulet with a depiction of a fertility goddess with a slash through the image. Their black hair shined even in the dim firelight.

The official was robed in thick, bright red wool robes with a purple sash. He wore sandals made of leather. His jewelry was extravagant. He, too, had an amulet around his neck. The amulet was purple and depicted one of the old pagan gods of wealth. His amulet hung on a large gold neck ring. He wore gold rings on every finger and had many naturally beautiful rubies inlaid in some. He wore armbands on both arms that were twisted and formed into many intricate patterns. His piece de resistance, however, was the tiny, detailed gold vial around his neck on a leather necklace that was pierced with gold studs.
That's him, Satan said to his new-born child, Now it is time for you to learn how to use your own abilities.
The white light in Dunkleflemme's eyes intensified with the prospect. His wings flared slightly as he shifted impatiently upon the wall of the Inner Gate.
That man before you is Kesar Dumah. He is the city's highest ranking non-royal official- a tax collector. He is admired by his fellow decadents for his tax plan that conveniently exempts the rich, yet still brings in enough gold, livestock, and artisan products to keep the king happy. An impressive feat, to be sure. One that brings him prestige at the expense of the livelihood and even the very lives of those beyond the Inner Gate. You see, the function of these three gates is not just to provide more protection for the elite from the outside, but to protect their own consciences, as well.
Dunkleflemme soundlessly fell from the Inner Gate, flaring his wings to slow the descent and landing in a three-point stance. The night was still, save for the slight flickering of the red-flamed torches.
See the two torches in front of you? Concentrate on the flame...
Once again, Satan reached through Otiena's mind, this time using her as a link to Dunkleflemme's mind. Dunkleflemme's connection to his powers was much easier to find. From the clear jewel embedded in his forehead it was short work to travel down a specialized bundle of nerves that rested in the divide between two hemispheres of the brain. This bundle of nerves branched off neo-cortex much like the nerves in the spine branched off into the body. However, the base of these nerves ended in the limbic system, leaving the densest distribution of these nerves in the seat of emotion. Conversely, these nerves were also more densely distributed in the left hemisphere, which was primed more towards logic and visual-spatial comprehension. The result of this setup was to insure that his abilities would not only be almost instinctual, but with the tendency of the left hemisphere to be more logical, provided him more rigid control of his powers.
With this gentle probe into Dunkleflemme's mind, the gem on his forehead began to glow slightly. His eyes grew dimmer as this intrinsic sensation consumed his thoughts.
...Watch its movements. Own them. You can own that flame, Dunkleflemme. Make it do what you want, and all you have to do is command it.
Dunkleflemme shook his head, realizing he had gone into a trance.
You can't focus on the feeling, Dunkleflemme. You must focus on your environment and the task ahead. Focus on the flame.
His eyes glowed bright again as he focused on his surroundings, noticing first the flame, then the torch, then the cool night air, and finally- the target.
He turned his attention back onto the flame, beginning to sway with its movements. Suddenly, like a snake preparing to strike a mouse, Dunkleflemme tensed and sent the flames from the small torch high into the night air.

Kesar Dumah and his whores ducked at this display, a short, high-pitched scream issuing from one of their lips. He looked around wildly for the source of their disturbance. His black eyes skimmed the torch, finally rising above it and resting on a window and a silhouette of a man that seemed to be holding a wineskin. Having no other explanation, he quickly assumed that the man had spilt wine out of the window and on the torch.

He laughed and shook his fist at the window.

"Watch your wine, you fool!" he cursed playfully.

His whores laughed, too, satisfied and relieved by the explanation. Kesar Dumah roughly grabbed them both by the waist.

"Let us find more...congenial surroundings," he said.

He led the prostitutes roughly to his two-story residence and closed the cypress-wood doors.

The street was now empty, and Dunkleflemme in his invisibility walked boldly to the torch on the main complex's wall. He gazed at the flame intently and slowly put his hand over it, absorbing its heat. He stood there like that for a moment before scooping his hand under the flame, allowing it to feed off of the skin of his palm. He winced slightly in pain, the newness of life making his palm smooth and tender.

He took the flame and walked to the left of the main complex to the building in which Kesar Dumah and his whores had retreated. He flew to the top of the roof and waited for the house to grow still. Silence finally came with the gray of pre-dawn.

Dunkleflemme shook the dew from his wings, careful to preserve the flame that had blackened his hand throughout the night. He dropped silently from the side of the residence, flaring his blue wings to slow the descent. He walked to the front and slowly opened the cypress door, his hands running along the intricate designs that had been carved into it, and entered the room. Kesar Dumah and his prostitutes slept soundly on two elaborate, wood couches. His red robe was strewn across the shredded, purple remains of his whores' clothing.

Dunkleflemme bent down and fed the flame a wooden bowl on the tiled floor, relieving his hand. He used the bowl to feed the flame to several other wooden artifacts and, having nothing left to burn, directed the flames to the couches. It looked like a river of fire as the flames leapt from one flammable object to the next, finally licking and taking hold of the couches. Dunkleflemme watched as the red and purple fabrics of the clothes curled and burned black.

Within minutes, his prostitutes began to stir in their sleep, suddenly uncomfortable with the increase in temperature. One prostitute turned over with unease as the sound of burning wood crackled underneath and all around her. Kesar Dumah remained unmoved until, finally, the blackened, weakened wood collapsed underneath him, jostling him from his sleep.

They all leapt from their couches and began beating the flame off of each others' hair and the couches.

"What have you done, you stupid whores?" Kesar Dumah yelled, slapping one of them across the room.

They began to cry and wail hysterically, running to the door. Dunkleflemme stepped in front of the doorway, his huge body easily blocking their escape. The prostitutes pounded wildly on his invisible mass, cursing whatever was doing this to them. They finally turned back to the flame and, in one final attempt at freedom, ran to the small window on the right side of the room. They climbed through, frantically, the last one kicking a panicked Kesar Dumah as he grabbed for her foot. He yelled in frustration as she got away, realizing his body was far too large to ever get through the small window. He began to ram the area around the window, hoping to crush enough of the wall to get through. The sun-dried bricks that he had spent so much of his wealth on, however, prevented him from escaping, despite his strength. He turned back to the door and began to punch Dunkleflemme's invisible stomach over and over again in despair.

"Ye Gods! What have I done to deserve this fate? What have I done...?" he inquired, knowing it to be in vain.

Dunkleflemme simply watched this display with curiosity until he heard someone crawl through the window. Otiena lifted herself through the window and floated across the burning floor. She was carrying a sickle-sword with a blue-flamed blade. She extended the sword to him.

A gift.

Dunkleflemme dropped the Illusion and took the sword.

"You have been damned," he said with no emotion.

He lifted the sword over his head and stared his prey coldly in the eye.

"Please...don't..." was all Kesar Dumah could muster in his defense.

His eyes grew large as he looked to Otiena with his plea. She shook her head. He looked back to Dunkleflemme tensing with the realization of his impending doom.

Not comprehending these final gestures, Dunkleflemme lifted the sword even higher over Kesar Dumah's head, his blue skin rippling as his arms tensed and jack knifed the sword into the right side of Kesar Dumah's neck. The force he put behind the sword forced it far enough into Kesar Dumah's neck to sever the spine.

Kesar Dumah's lifeless body fell with a thud, his bloody neck jutted at an unnatural angle.

Dunkleflemme simply watched as the body fell, his face expressionless and uncomprehending.

After a moment, he lifted the sword to his face, his eyes following the drops of blood as it fell from the sword. The flame that had initially burned the blade blue was gone- replaced by the black, congealing blood of Kesar Dumah.

"Let's go," he said to Otiena as the last drop fell.

Otiena nodded and created the invisibility illusion over them both once more. Dunkleflemme opened the cypress door which was just beginning to burn.

"Grab my neck," he said. She moved toward his voice and guided her long fingers around his broad shoulders and to his neck. He picked her up and took to the night sky just as the other residents of the Inner Gate Complex made their way to the burning building. Dunkleflemme gripped the sword tightly, digging the blade almost uncomfortably into Otiena's side.

The landed on the roof of the same brothel they had been at earlier, silent save for the light sound of Dunkleflemme's wings beating quickly to quiet their impact with the clay roof. Otiena slithered out of his arms and rubbed her side where the sword had pressed against her flesh.

There has got to be an easier way to get around, she thought to herself.

Dunkleflemme walked over to the edge of the flat roof and squatted, stretching his wings as he looked out over the city. Otiena walked around on the roof a bit, staring up at the sky. Unable to think of anything better to do, she joined Dunkleflemme on the edge of the roof, opting to sit on the edge with her legs dangling above the alley and her hands resting backwards on the roof to support her weight.

"So what do you make of all this?" she asked, still star-gazing.

"All of what?" he asked, not really interested in talking to this strange individual.

"This! Everything that had happened..." she said, trailing as she realized that any conversation with him would be one-sided.

She sighed, and began to play with her Illusion ability. At first, she did the same dancing Illusion of herself, smiling as it danced on air before her. She quickly became bored with this and recreated the scene of Kesar Dumah's death. She started with the room, then the flame, then Kesar Dumah, and finally, Dunkleflemme bringing the sword above his head...ready to strike...

"I think we should go back," Dunkleflemme said.

"Now? But we just got here. Wouldn't you like to explore the city some? Watch the people? Maybe see what our friend is up to?"

"I have already flown over this city and seen its strange people. I know more about this city than I do my own home. As for him, I really don't care. His fate is sealed either way."

"Fine," she pouted, and quickly jumped from the ledge, landing in a three-point stance. It was only about ten feet high, so the landing wasn't that rough. She stood up, "Coming?"

This creature is incorrigible.

"I heard that!" she shouted from below.

Dunkleflemme got up, walked over to the ledge, spread his wings and jumped, beating his wings three times before landing upright on the ground below.

"Don't read my thoughts," he growled.

"As I said before, don't think so hard, and I won't read your thoughts."
They glared at each other before moving into the rectangular, gate-shaped portal side by side, jostling each other slightly as they did.

They walked back through the star, not even bothering to let the gate push them through.