Imaro walked through the village...or what was once a village. Blackened mounds that used to be huts smoldered. Whorls of smoke from their demise ascended like a migration of restless spirits to the heavens. Bodies lay everywhere, some whole, others in pieces. The varied ages of the victims attested to their killer's callously indiscriminant impulse."Who could have done this thing?" Pomphis, Imaro's diminunutive companion, whispered, observing the horrific scene with dismay."It wasn't slavers," Imaro replied, grimly certain. "Slavers do not slaughter able bodied men or females fit for harems."Additional soldiers under Imaro's command entered the remains of the village. They were Cushites, battle hardened and efficient. They had served under Imaro for the better part of three rains. Much death they seen, much killing they had participated in. But there was something uniquely unnerving about this scene. Something not quite natural. An aura of fear settled over these strong, valorous men like a cold, clammy blanket.Imaro felt the disquiet, too. "I sense Mchawi magic," he hissed, wrapping a hand around his sword hilt."We should leave this place," Pomphis said, not immune to the dread afflicting the living.Imaro nodded and signaled to the young Cushite captain, Mphet, in the distance. "We move out."Mphet nodded crisply and gathered the men.For little over a month, Imaro, Pomphis, and a contingent of 100 Cushites had been on the trail of a foul manisfestation of Mchawi magic, a creature that struck without warning. A creature every bit as remorseless and savage as the malevolent sorcery that birthed it. The creature, described only as a hulking Mzingu wearing a mask of the strangest design, had killed scores of Cushites. It looked very much like the demon who struck down innocent Cushites, swept through this blameless hamlet as well.It took a mass mobilization of the army to chase the creature from the capitol. Now, all that was left to do was to trap it in the hinterland and kill it. Easier said than done.Imaro, Pomphis and the Cushite soldiers moved on.The Cushite died as the darkness of night filtered into the forest. He had the first watch. The night was deceptively calm, enticing, lulling. The soldier's eyelids grew heavy. A nearby rustle snared the man's attention and all drowsiness seeped out of him in a spike of awareness. "Who goes there?"The soldier stood, unsheathing his sword. He was about to repeat his demand when the answer swished toward him in an unearthly blur of green-tinted steel. The soldier's head bounced on the forest brush, the expression forever frozen in a look of alertness. His body toppled in the opposite direction.A cry of alarm shattered Imaro's light doze. He jumped, sword in hand in an instant. He needed no report to tell him what he already sensed. The demon was among them...
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