No one looks Drakar directly in the eyes. Not out of reverence. It's flat out fear. Emptiness, death and decay fill his eye sockets. Yet he can see so much.
"There are mumblings among the ranks," he said, gesturing me forward. He's called me to his relaxation room before to congratulate me. None of those times started with these words. Seated in a pool of flames covering his demonic form up to his chest, bat-like wings half-stretched, he is evil incarnate.
"What might those be, master?" Not that I wanted to know.
"You are distracted. Barely making quota. And it's because of a girl."
"I wouldn't allow such a thing to happen, not behind some human. This is just a poor soul season. I will return to my splendor, milord." How the hell did he know?
"She is not what you think. Her arms 'bare' the truth." He sneered at his own little private joke, continuing, "Now fall to the second circle of Hell. The pits await you for your incompetence." He waved his taloned hand dismissively.
I settle on a stone, the pits worse than ever, his words killing me softly, doubt gnawing at the little bit of humanity that remains, doubts about my Abby.*****
I still want to punch Drakar. I know, I know. Violence is not always the answer...but boy would it sure feel good :-)