Demons of Metal, Demons of Glass, Pt. 8

Esau scanned the city, but saw nothing that looked like the soldiers off in the distance. “It must be one of them,” he thought. “A trained assassin instead of a warrior. Perhaps he’s wearing a different suit, one that doesn’t shed heat in the same way.” He studied the patrolling guards that were farthest from the others, the isolated ones who wouldn’t have anyone close enough to heed their cries for help, the careless ones who made themselves easy targets. There was no movement near them either, nothing that couldn’t be attributed to a mere dog or a cat.

Behind the goggles, Esau frowned. The so-called demon had taken at least one life every night since its first killing. Why would it go into hiding now? Had it learned somehow that Esau was tracking it? Did it fear him? Was it perhaps someone in the city? A traitor in the employ of the army that waited at the gates?

Esau frowned. This was more than he had wanted to deal with. He was a hunter, a warrior. He had no patience for intrigue, no skill with it.

Sudden movement caught his attention. It might have been nothing, the wind blowing through tree branches, the dark cold leaves dark through the lenses of his goggles, but then he saw it again. It slithered down the trunk and paused against the wall of a home. It was a humanoid figure, cold and dark against the warmth of the house. A demon, a thing of shadow that looked unnatural against the walls heated by people, by light, by fire.

Esau smiled. Fools, he thought. A thing that casts no heat stands out like spilled ink on white paper.

And then it disappeared, its form vanishing before his eyes.

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