The screams for justice rose high into the air as the crowd, turned mob, began moving towards the city's fortress leaving only the carers of the sick and injured behind as well as the guards that stood at the gates.

"Hope can be a dangerous thing," sighed Mors as he glanced at the stone, square building that rose up above its surrounding's. -"That's more of a keep than a fortress, but I suppose just like when cannons were invented in my world, when you have magic there's no point in bricks and mortar."

Turning around, Mors walked the last few steps towards the large, majestically engraved wooden doors as he spat a bright green liquid onto the floor, watching it bubble away. -"Whatever Aldrec used to delay the effects tastes like utter shit, give me a raw core any day."

Deep down, Mors knew what he was doing would change him forever. He may have done worse in his past lives, but this was the first time that he didn't care about the so called innocents being affected. In fact, it wasn't that he didn't care, he needed to make them pay for Runt's death.

Mors' eyes glowed. "Kill them all, let God sort it out."

Just as his hands reached the door, Mors felt a warm, tingling sensation spread over his body and let out a sigh. -"I really regret not bring my status plate with me. I have lost count of how many times I have gained new skills today, but unlike the one where my body turned to smoke, I have no idea how to use them."

Releasing a dull creaking noise as if in protest at the demon's touch, Mors threw the massive doors inwards, smashing them into the stone walls.

Stepping into the long, rectangular room decorated with rich tapestries and tall windows of coloured glass, Mors looked around as if he was nothing more than a tourist enjoying the sights.

Towards the back of the room stood around a hundred people in front of a statue of the Goddess of Light, dressed in all kinds of coloured robes, watching him intently.

Looking at the group, Mors saw overturned chairs and a few parchments littering the floor showing just how hastily they had gathered at the end of the room, causing him to chuckle. -"They must have heard my speech."

As Mors' heavy footsteps resounded off the marble floor, a lighter, rhythmic sound greeted them and an old man with a walking stick, taller than himself, stepped forward.

Twisting his long white beard as if in thought, the old man let our a deep, powerful voice. "I wondered who would have been brazen enough to spout lies upon the holy ground of the Goddess of Light. I see though your deceitful ways... demon. We know nothing of the mana core poisoning."

Mors let out a light-hearted laugh as he continued walking forward. Ever since his dragonic instincts began taking over, he felt surprisingly at peace with his actions. "So you already know the cause? Impressive... I thought it would have taken you a couple more hours to work it out, but then again I guess its symptoms are pretty extravagant and easy to spot."

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Suddenly Mors' eyes narrowed as wisps of flame danced around them, analysing the old man. "Isn't that right... Demon Hunter, or should I say, ex-demon hunter. Your core has been cracked, and most of your muscles are almost useless."

Instead of looking shocked, the old man revealed a fearless smile, one that knew his death was all but assured yet unwilling to fall into despair. "I knew you were no run of the mill demon. May I ask how you knew?"

Mors chuckled as he walked. "I am surprised you didn't notice. I guess it must have been in that last demon battle where you were cursed."

The old man's eyes went wide. "Cursed?"

Mors thought for a moment. "Would you believe me if I said you have a red cloud above your head so bright that a demon could spot you a mile off? It also displays, what I think is, your health, line of sight and I think the state of your mind."

The old man's brow wrinkled in anger. "Demonic Mark... I knew my illness wasn't normal, even with a... "

"Parasite?" Finished Mors causing the old man's pupils to shrink. Mors had now crossed over half the distance of the room and cleared the rows of wooden benches.

Suddenly Mors stopped and looked towards a group of young healers, no more than fifteen to twenty years old. "One of you Rebecka Altan, niece of Deckard Altan?"

A small, mousy brown haired girl stepped forward, fear plastered across her face. "I...I am Rebecka."

A friendly smile crept across Mors' face, visible to all that were watching. "Get out of here now... Your uncle asks that you leave this city immediately."

The shocked girl stood still for a moment before looking at the people immediately around her causing Mors to let out a deep sigh, realising that she was one of few that would not abandon those close to her for the sake of her own life. "Take your friends with you..."

The moment the word's left his mouth, the small group burst into a run, skirting Mors as best they could and quickly disappeared out of the open doors.

The old man revealed a grim smile. "Looks like we finally know the reason for your visit and the destruction brought to the city... Just how much are the Dark Hearts paying you?"

Mors smiled back. "Nothing... Due to circumstances that I am embarrassed to admit, I owe Deckard a favour."

The man shook his head. "No matter the reason, you let the youngsters go... for that, even though I if I could, I would kill you within a heartbeat, you have my thanks."

Suddenly Mors' body turned into a blur as he passed the old man and entered the crowd of people, all secretly preparing whatever offensive spells they possessed.

The old man stood there in shock, never having seen a demon move as fast, before slowly turning around and cursing. "By the maker."

The high stone walls behind him were dripping with blood and body parts as Mors, who was covered in even more gore than the walls, slowly walked towards him shrugging his shoulders. "The maker has decided to sit this one out.

The old man resisted the urge to retreat and glared at the advancing demon. "A Duke level demon that is not controlled by the council... Just where in the world have you come from?"

Mors passed the man, no more than an arm's length before stopping. "A wise man knows when to stop asking questions... or was that a man that lives a long time. I always forget."

Watching Mors walk towards the door, the old man couldn't resist shouting out another question. "Why did you let me live?"

Mors turned his head lazily as he glanced back. "Because I always hated the villains that killed the old men in westerns for no reason. Other men, women, hell even children you could understand, and it often had a point but the old men. Hmm, maybe I am just weird. Until next time, Demon Hunter."

The old man was dumbstruck by Mors' answer and only when the demon disappeared out of the door did his brain manage to start working again. -"What a mad, terrifying creature, I must inform the council immediately. The Black Hearts have gone too far this time."