The air was chilly as they flew to Henry’s former harem home, so despite being clothed in an intricate blue satin robe about as thick as four of David’s ragged gray tattered thing materialized with his flesh, he could feel Amanda shiver through her hand.

“Would you like to make a stop?”

“Sure! Where should we go?”

“How about we get something to eat? I feel like I haven’t eaten in a year!”

He was being literal, of course, but Amanda laughed softly in response, clearly amiable to David’s suggestion.

They swooped down and into the door of the nearest building with a line, which turned out to be a massive brick building with a western-style front of house. There was a small podium inside the huge facade decorated with gold and guarded by at least two mages to prevent the easy prying and theft that came with the decision to use gold on an exterior face, but David didn’t care about any of that.

They didn’t even stop at the front doors, merely passing through without setting foot on the velvet-carpeted ground. It was only at the podium to this massive foyer with chandeliers brightly lighting his tattered garments that he was even questioned, or more precisely that anyone even had time to react. A few shouts came from outside at the audacity of such a clearly weak man bypassing the line of those much more worthy of entrance than him, but those didn’t matter. The guards encircling him didn’t matter either. The only relevant thing David cared about was that there wasn’t an attendant immediately ready to provide them a table.

So he grabbed the nearest guard by the throat and demanded to be seated. There was quickly a stabbing of three swords, thick and iron, possibly scimitars, but they quickly dissolved inside his acidic flesh. A few beams of fire hit him and passed through. A few tables were rendered a portrait of ash. A few guests were struck, but it did them no harm. Why the hell did they expect it to do him any?

“Give me a table, or I’ll kill all of you.”

“Please Henry, you don’t have to do this on my account. These people are just doing their jobs!”

“David, not Henry.”

“And they’d better do their jobs properly or I’ll be giving them an early and permanent retirement.”

A tall and thin man with a bar handle mustache greeted David in a French accent.

“Why are you French?” he thought.

“Please sir, they didn’t mean any harm. If you could please provide some proof of your identity we’ll have you seated right away.”

David flashed the man a smile and dropped the guard from his grip. Before he struck the ground, the man’s flesh was gone leaving only a pile of clothing consisting of an all-too-modern western suit and bowtie.

“Why I’m David, but you may know me by my works, I am The Scourge, or more precisely the man who caused it.”

A murmuring rose from the seated and unseated crowd within and outside the building. Cold sweat began to form on the manager’s brow. It was clearly evident he was uncomfortable, even despite how little proof David had provided. Was this really him? The man who rendered so much of the world uninhabitable for want of protection and threw the balance of power so firmly established over centuries into decades of unending strife?

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

It was a bold claim, but he didn’t want to chance it. If this really was The Scourge, it would be unwise to defy him. If this wasn’t him, this man had just announced his presence to a room filled with some of the sect’s most powerful fighters. He would soon find death at the hands of one wronged by the actions he had claimed to commit if he had been so foolish as to lie about being the equivalent of Hitler to a room of Jewish families armed with assault rifles.

Strangely enough, no one confronted him. Perhaps it was the display of power he had just performed. Perhaps they had simply taken note of his face and name for later. Perhaps some still remembered what Henry had done the year prior, but all the same he was escorted to a table of recently-departed guests.

“Please excuse the mess. We’ll have it cleaned up shortly.”

With the wave of his hand the Frenchman picked up each item, six at a time to the garbage and back of house. David was seated at the small chair central to the room. Above him was a twenty-foot wide golden chandelier encrusted with gems. To the side was a small orchestra consisting of a handful of chamber-musicians

Among them was an extremely talented violinist by the name of Leonard Giuseppe whose hands had become cold and clammy and legs stiff beyond movement. The grip on his bow was loose and it had become increasingly difficult to maintain the necessary posture and composure necessary to perform for the house of increasingly-important guests. A small stain had begun to form on his khakis, but given his tensity he hadn’t noticed.

David didn’t either, though it wouldn’t have made any difference as to whether the music was in perfect harmony or an absolute cacophony. It didn’t even register to him that the performance had stopped and just now returned. Even the food wouldn’t be relevant. Spit, urine, it didn’t matter. He even ordered soup to make it easy on the chefs and impossible to burn, though he would love to see them try.

Amanda looked at him expectantly as if he had some grand secret only partially revealed.

Ah, he did.

David spoke first. “It seems odd that they’d take the order for our main course at the same time as getting drinks, doesn’t it?”

Amanda stated the obvious, “They probably want us out of here as quickly as possible.”

David chuckled slightly.

“I suppose they do, but we won’t be leaving until you’re ready, be that six minutes or years.”

“Why would I want to stay at a restaurant for six years? Do they have that much soup to sample?”

“Maybe, but I bet most of them have the same rather distinct flavor hidden in the subtext.”

“Ugh, at least it’s easy to get rid of.”

“Is it? I’m not sure I’d notice.”

“You’re the one who brought it up!”

Suddenly the room began to shake as though an earthquake had started with this restaurant at its epicenter. Explosions began to ring out throughout the city: the artillery shells to soften all garrisons in preparation for a siege. How were they even getting over the walls? That seemed an obvious advantage in this situation. For that matter what was even being lobbed over? Fireballs?

He didn’t suppose it mattered, so while the other guests began to panic and file out in disorder, David remained seated.

Giuseppe looked around in disbelief. He had been here for six months, a refugee from one of the surrounding villages put under threat by the continuous advance of the Covenant of Ancients in the surrounding region. This place was supposed to be safe, and now this? His pants found themselves in a torrential downpour, but he still didn’t notice. The thoughts of panic and dread had made themselves far too loud. Giuseppe’s violin began to shriek shrill notes of panic as his eyes found their way onto David. Was this man really responsible for the Great Scourge? Was he responsible for this too?

But as a violinist Leonard had no special power. His legs trembled and his bowstrings felt and sounded like they would snap at any moment, but in the presence of one willing to kill over not being seated in a timely manner, ceasing his play was not an option.

The other performers— two cellists, a fiddle, and a lute— looked to him as their leader. Despite his urine-stained pants they too would remain by his side. He was the most experienced of them all, how could he let them down?

Amanda cringed slightly as the music took a turn for the dissonant. David noticed and immediately dismissed the performers. He didn’t care for the music anyway.

Leonard’s heart sank. All that resolve and for nothing? It was only ten seconds later after he hurriedly sprinted out of the room that he realized he still had his life. He looked down and shrugged. Finding another pair of pants was trivial by comparison, though it seemed he would have to wait.