"What was that?" asked Thamuz, as the rays of the morning sun bathed his sweaty face.

"I temporarily broke all the limits of your body to make you reach your maximum displacement speed. To be precise, five times the speed of sound," the demon replied with a raspy voice from the depths of Thamuz's mind.

"The speed of what?" Thamuz inquired, feeling his trembling legs as a sharp pain began piercing through them like burning needles.

"It doesn't matter. I simply made you run at an extraordinary speed, but if we had stayed in that state a few seconds longer, your legs would have exploded from surpassing their mortal limits," the demon explained, materializing in front of Thamuz as an ethereal shadow that gazed out over the city.

Thamuz moved forward with difficulty, his muscles protesting with every step. He staggered as he approached the demon's side, where the view of the city unfolded before them like a tapestry of stone and life.

"It truly is a beautiful city, brimming with life, hope, and growth," murmured the demon, extending a skeletal hand toward the urban landscape. "Boom."

Thamuz watched as the demon clenched his hand with restrained violence, raising it toward the sky in a gesture of power.

"If only I had the strength to absorb this entire city—every life and every essence—I could recover even a fraction of my power... enough to obliterate all existence in this filthy, decaying galaxy," declared the demon, lifting his other arm grandiosely.

Thamuz glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, grinding his teeth as he began to make his way toward the city.

The demon, noticing his gesture, floated behind him with a mocking air.

"Don't grind your teeth like that. It's disrespectful," he said slowly.

"Whatever. Since we met, all you talk about is destruction and death. Don't you know anything else?" Thamuz asked, turning his head slightly.

"No. My existence has always been like this. Since my birth at the dawn of time, I have only known destruction and violence. I suppose it's in my nature."

They continued on their way as carriages laden with exotic goods and delicacies passed by, heading toward the city. The drivers, lost in their thoughts, seemed to look straight through Thamuz, but what truly unsettled him was their complete indifference to the floating skull and skeletal arms accompanying him.

"So, only I can see you?" asked Thamuz, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"That's right, only you. No one else can perceive my presence... unless you wish to absorb much more energy so that I can fully manifest in this world," the demon explained, his final words laced with barely contained sadism.

"I'd rather die than do something like that again. I almost killed my father... do you think I'd want to do the same to an innocent person?" Thamuz protested, pointing at his right arm with a gesture heavy with bitterness.

"It's only a matter of time before you discover how magnificent the power of absorption truly is. It's an absolute addiction," the demon replied, fading into the air like a dark mist.

Thamuz continued on his way, relieved that the cosmic abomination seemed to have momentarily vanished from his existence, until he felt himself stumble over something small.

Looking down, he saw an old man sprawled on the ground. The man's hair was completely white, with a thick silver beard that reached his neck. He wore a brown robe, frayed with age, and his forehead bore sizable horns in proportion to his body. But his most striking feature was the absence of eyes, replaced by a linear scar running across his face.

"Oh, sir, I’m so sorry! Let me help you!" Thamuz exclaimed, overcome with guilt.

Gently, he held the old man by the shoulder and helped him to his feet, brushing off his clothes as he did. The man coughed and trembled slightly.

"Thank you, young man," said the old man softly. "I believe I tripped over a large stone that made me fall along with my belongings."

"Yes, I saw you trip hard," lied Thamuz, ashamed to be the true cause of the accident. "By the way, what belongings are you referring to?"

"My belongings, a large black cloth bag. It must be nearby," the old man replied, attempting to orient himself despite his blindness.

Thamuz scanned the surroundings until he spotted the bag off the path. He quickly went to retrieve it.

"Is this it?" he asked, returning to the old man.

The man moved closer, guided by Thamuz’s voice, and extended his wrinkled hands to feel the black fabric of the bag.

"Yes, that's the one. Thank you so much," the old man replied with genuine joy.

"Where are you headed, sir?" Thamuz asked.

"I’m on my way to the city of Andraxius. Am I going the right way? It's been a long time since life took away the beautiful gift of sight," the old man replied, a serene smile gracing his wrinkle-lined face.

"Yes, actually, we’re going the same way. Would you like me to carry your belongings? You could probably use some rest," Thamuz offered, returning the old man’s smile even though he couldn’t see it.

"Really? Thank you so much, young man. That would mean a lot to these old shoulders," the old man said with gratitude.

Thamuz slung the bag over his left shoulder, surprised by its considerable weight. He couldn’t help but admire the old man’s resilience, imagining the long journey he must have undertaken carrying such a burden.

"Let’s go; we’re only a few meters from the city gates," Thamuz indicated, starting forward.

The old man walked beside him, his cautious but firm steps guided by the echo of Thamuz’s heavy footfalls—a beacon in his perpetual darkness.

"Tell me, young man, what is your name?" the old man asked, clasping his hands behind his back in a solemn gesture.

"My name is Thamuz. And you, sir?" Thamuz replied, glancing at his companion.

"I am Vixkard, Vixkard Tademus," the old man responded, turning his face toward the source of Thamuz’s voice.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Vixkard... That sounds like a powerful name," Thamuz remarked, genuinely impressed.

"Thank you, I truly appreciate that," Vixkard replied warmly.

They arrived at the city gates, colossal structures that seemed to scrape the clouds. Thamuz approached and rapped his knuckles against the immense surface. A small hatch slid open, revealing a pair of green eyes that scrutinized the peculiar duo: a blind old man and a demon of towering proportions.

"Who are you?" came the voice from behind the hatch.

"I am Thamuz," he answered.

"I am Vixkard."

"Ah, we weren’t expecting you to arrive so soon. Come in, please," the guard replied, addressing Vixkard.

To Thamuz's surprise, instead of the doors opening, the ground before them split apart, revealing an underground passage with descending stairs.

"I thought they would open the doors," commented Thamuz, amazed.

"The doors are just additional defense against invaders or war. The only way to enter is through this passage or by the bridge reserved for carriages and special cargo," explained Vixkard, heading towards the opening.

They descended the stairs, entering the darkness of the tunnel.

"I can't see anything," muttered Thamuz, squinting his eyes.

"Neither can I," responded Vixkard with mordant humor.

Suddenly, dozens of torches lit up simultaneously, revealing an imposing scene: soldiers in gleaming armor guarded the passage, holding chained beasts that stirred restlessly. A soldier approached with a stern expression.

"Come, I'll guide you," he ordered, turning his back to them.

They followed the soldier while the others remained at their posts, motionless as statues, while the chained creatures moved nervously, as if anticipating an invisible signal.

At the end of the passage, heavy curtains filtered the outside light, marking the entrance to the city. Thamuz took the first step, being greeted by a fresh breeze that carried the aromas of the market and the warmth of the sun.

He turned to see the soldier whispering something in Vixkard's ear, who nodded with a wide smile and raised his thumb in agreement.

Vixkard positioned himself next to Thamuz, appreciating with his other senses what his eyes couldn't see, and exhaled deeply while crossing his arms.

"Well, it seems we've both reached our destination," he said, turning his face towards Thamuz. "Thank you for your help, you can return my luggage now."

Thamuz nodded and carefully placed the black bag on the ground. Vixkard approached, briefly hugged his luggage and lifted it with evident effort onto his shoulders.

"Hey, if you want I can carry your luggage to wherever you're going," offered Thamuz, concerned about the old man's visible effort.

"No, don't worry, there's still strength in these little arms," responded Vixkard, beginning to walk while turning his head towards where he perceived Thamuz to be. "Until we meet again, young Thamuz."

Thamuz raised his hand in farewell, aware that the gesture would go unnoticed by the old man. He exhaled softly and raised his face to the sky, allowing the sun's rays to bathe him in their warmth.

"Well, it's time to fulfill my objective: reach that gigantic ship and meet with Narek and Berkam," he muttered, adjusting his sling while suppressing a grunt of pain from his dislocated right arm.

He ventured into the streets, merging with the river of people flowing through the city. The colorful attire of the citizens created a visual spectacle that made his dark figure stand out even more, like an ink stain on a multicolored canvas.

Passersby would momentarily stop to observe him. Some recognized him from his previous shamonak fights against bhogtan, khabixan, and Bhaxmunt, while others contemplated with amazement his unique features.

His horns, more prominent than those of any local inhabitant, his enormous stature, his skin black as the deepest abyss, his sharp teeth that fascinated those who saw them, and above all, his crimson eyes that seemed to penetrate the soul of whoever dared to hold his gaze.

Upon reaching the merchant area, Thamuz found himself immersed in a visual feast of exotic goods. His attention stopped at a particular stall where they displayed a gelatinous creature with multiple tentacles, protected by a hard black shell. The vendor, wielding a knife the size of his forearm, cut the tentacles while the creature emitted shrieks of pain.

The most disturbing part was observing how the tentacles regenerated instantly, only to be severed again. The vendor poured a corrosive liquid over the creature, causing it to emit dense, nauseating smoke.

Thamuz looked away, feeling a pang of compassion. "They should give it a quick death before cooking it," he thought, uncomfortable with such a display of unnecessary cruelty.

Continuing his way, he spotted to his left a jar stall attended by a small boy who held one of the containers while announcing his merchandise with youthful enthusiasm.

Thamuz approached, crouching down to be at eye level with the little merchant. The boy clutched the jar in his hands, visibly intimidated by the imposing figure of the demon who was watching him intently.

"What do you sell here?" asked Thamuz, trying to soften his naturally intimidating presence.

"I... I sell jars... with... with powders or spices," stammered the boy, with a growing tremor in his voice.

"Really? Show me some of your jars," requested Thamuz, making an effort to sketch a smile that would be more reassuring than terrifying.

The boy nodded and stepped back towards a shelf, from where he extracted several jars containing powders of various colors: red, blue, green, pink, and more shades that glowed faintly under the sunlight.

"Here you go, sir. I hope you like them," said the little one, offering them to Thamuz.

Thamuz extended his colossal hand, almost the size of the boy himself, to take the jars. The child, instinctively, covered his face, fearing harm.

"What are these powders made of?" asked Thamuz, examining with genuine interest the jars resting in his palm.

The boy slowly lowered the arm protecting his face, watching in amazement as that imposing being showed real curiosity about his products. Gradually, confidence began to replace his fear.

"They're aromatic powders, sir. They're for bathing or perfuming the environment. You can also use them as cologne. Try them if you'd like," explained the boy, noticing how the jars seemed tiny in Thamuz's immense hand.

With surprising delicacy, Thamuz uncapped one of the jars and applied a small amount to his wrist. Upon smelling it, he threw his head back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the aroma.

"It's very strong," he commented between coughs, covering his mouth with his forearm.

"Perhaps, but if you dissolve it in a full bathtub, its fragrance will last until nightfall," added the boy, sketching a more confident smile.

"And the other powders?" inquired Thamuz, carefully resealing the jar.

"The orange one is made with bunkmat flowers, harvested from the highest peaks. The blue is Nirghota, made with tiny insects that dance on the surface of sacred lakes."

The boy continued his explanation with growing enthusiasm, his initial fear vanishing with each word as he shared the secrets of his merchandise.

"So, sir, are you interested in any?" he finally asked, daring to hold Thamuz's crimson gaze.

"I'm interested in all of them, actually. If I take the ones you've shown me, how much would it be in total?" asked Thamuz, weighing the jars in his hand.

The boy brought a hand to his chin, meticulously counting with his fingers while evaluating the price.

"It would be two green pamtan," he declared after his calculation.

"Only two for all this? You must be joking," questioned Thamuz with disbelief.

"I haven't sold anything today and... I don't want to take advantage of your unfamiliarity with these matters. Two would be more than fine," responded the little one, beginning to pack the jars in a small leather bag.

Thamuz suddenly stood up, extracted a pamtan bag from his sling and took out a red one, holding it firmly before kneeling again.

"Extend your hand, friend," he requested with his deep voice.

The boy hesitated before extending his hands, distrust still visible in his body language. However, all suspicion vanished upon feeling the cold contact in his palm. He lowered his gaze to find a red pamtan gleaming under the sunlight, its crimson sparkles dancing between his fingers.

Upon looking up, Thamuz had already disappeared into the crowd, taking the leather bag with him. The little one closed his hands around the valuable coin and pressed it against his chest.

"Thank you, thank you so much, sir," he whispered with a broken voice, though he knew his benefactor could no longer hear him.

Meanwhile, Thamuz made his way through the crowd, with the bag of aromatic jars secure in his sling and his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Look at me, I'm the hero, the symbol of hope," the demon's mocking voice resonated in his mind. "I gave a small coin to a child and now I feel like the noblest."

Thamuz ignored the provocation, limiting himself to exhaling softly while closing his eyes. His moment of peace was interrupted by a light but firm touch on his back, like a hand claiming his attention.

Upon turning, his eyes opened with surprise: there was Korro, the leader of the Steel Fangs, looking at him with a wide smile that contradicted his fearsome reputation.