LOVE OF A QUISLING- A Blazing Inferno

THE QUEST FOR LUST (II)

Llearht’s voice halts him in his tracks. “I could answer all of your questions right now, but I have to be sure that the deal is still on.”

“What deal?”

“You’re not stupid, tuakana. Don’t tell me your brain is miniature too.”

“Call me small one more time and I’ll gut you like a goddamn seabass.”

“Wow. Are you sure you know your way around my body? You wouldn’t happen to be a surgeon, would you? Wait. What am I even saying? Even if you are a surgeon, you’ve only ever had to deal with human anatomy. How would you know whether my heart is in my chest or under the sole of my feet?”

“Do you mean your heart is under the sole of your feet? Like the story of Achilles? How is that even possible? Were you born like that? Which of your feet holds your heart?” Brandon’s curiosity is piqued by what he thinks is an anomaly. As a child, he had always wanted to learn new things, experiment, and experience things for himself. It is one of the reasons his mother got easily upset with him, but it is also the only thing that has kept him sane in the midst of so much madness and chaos. He asks too many questions, and he never relents until he receives a satisfactory answer.

They say that growing up changes people, but that nature of his remains unchanged till date- it will probably even follow him to his grave. The only thing that supersedes his desire to find his father is the urge to learn. Thus, it is no surprise that he is able to conveniently ignore the insult he just received and swallow his pride. It doesn’t hurt to be the bigger person. After all, he’s not anyone important. I can always get back at him after gleaning as much information as is possible.

“Stupido sciocco. Why would a normal demon have his heart under the sole of his feet? And you’re even comparing me with a worthless human. How disappointing of you.” Llearhht’s face is a mask of utter dismay and disappointment, but his eyes twinkle with laughter and mischief.

Brandon’s face adopts different expressions in the space of three seconds- from elation and barely concealed curiosity to shock and then anger. Llearht has to bite his tongue with so much force that it draws blood to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“You’re a jerk.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“That’s because it is a bad thing, you moron!” Brandon explodes in anger and frustration. So much for the knowledge. Knowledge my ass.

“Don’t be childish, tuakana.”

“My name’s not tuakana! And I’m not a child!”

“Of course you aren’t. I am well aware that you are by no means a child. That’s why I’m reminding you to not behave like one.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“Aye, aye. I’m not. And I can bet my True Soul that whoever she is, she must’ve been very disappointed in the way you turned out.”

“Shut your mouth.”

These words are not spoken with the usual anger or exasperation. They are barely heard, a mere whisper compared to the volume of his voice previously, but the power they contain is like no other. Llearth finds himself gasping for breath when he attempts to retort a sarcastic jibe.

Two and a half centuries spent as a supreme messenger has numbed Llearth to all forms of emotions- grief, anger, surprise, pain, you name it. But as he struggles to speak and finds it even harder to breathe, his mind is a mess of emotions. He feels as if he is slowly losing it. How? Why? What’s h-happening? Why can’t I speak? What magic is he using? Is he working with those blasted witches? But that’s impossible. Those old hags would skewer him with the harpoon and roast him like mutton, before dicing him into small, bite-size cubes. With the right spices and seasoning, he’d be fully marinated, like a typical kebab. Not that his flesh would taste nice or anything.

Although higher-ranked demons can indeed command their less powerful counterparts, the power wielded is not so stifling. He has defied a couple of orders from his superiors and he is quite familiar with the pain that comes with it, but it is never this intense. I mean, I sort of disobeyed Marquis Adeole to come here, and I only had to deal with searing pain at my joints- not like that could deter me from responding to the summons of a mortal stupid enough to bite more than he can chew.

A possibility crosses his mind and he suddenly stills, as if struck by lightning. No. it cannot be.

His eyes widen as he stares at Brandon with sheer surprise. Only a Sin or the heirs of a Sin can wield fuqia e vullnetit. Though his power is weak, I know what I feel. The Power of the Will is absolute. It is supreme. Unquestioned. Unrivaled. Who is he? What would the heir of a Sin be doing in the mortal realm, so far away from home? He seems too weak to be a demon prince, but you never can tell with them- he could be hiding his powers. Still, why does he smell human? Maybe he was killed and then reincarnated into a human body. But is that even possible?

Brandon pays no heed to the demon who seems to be stuck in his own head. Better this than his caustic tongue. At least he’s silent. Overcome by a sudden feeling of intense dizziness, he turns around and heads out, but not before chipping in some last words.

“A good night’s rest should at least reset some jammed areas in your brain. Though I doubt anything could ever make you less irritating. I’ll be back whenever I’ll be back, and you’d better be a lot more cooperative.”