Desert demon

Just as Konrad was still feeling so powerful, the front door flew shut and all the candles were blown out. In the darkness he heard the woman laughing mockingly and getting up from the floor cracking bones.

He pressed himself against the door fearfully, robbed of his manly strength. As she approached him, she grabbed his shoulders with an unimaginable force. “Jesus asked him: 'What's your name?' And he answered: 'Legion. Because he was possessed by many demons.

"What?" He called, remembering the quote from the Bible that he had read in the cathedral earlier. "In the name of the father and the son -" Konrad stammered, asking for God's help, but the latter seemed unwilling to answer.

The woman laughed again and her eyes glowed amber, like a demon's. "You are nothing, friar Konrad Eden."

"Please, Satan, show mercy!" Konrad pleaded through tears as the woman dug his claws into his arms.

“ Legion . Because he was possessed by many demons. ”Konrad turned his head away from her. “Tell it! Tell him! Say my name The woman screamed in his ears.

"Legion!" He shouted imploringly, and then he had cleared entry to Hell. The woman grabbed his shoulders and threw his body like a full sack against a wall painted with diabolical symbols.

"Because the darkness is deceptive!" She shouted after him, laughing.

A conflagration kindled him and devoured him along with the entire house.

1788 . At an Arab festival of faith in Africa .

"They believe in Jesus and a Satan the devil," he hissed mockingly. “What kind of culture is that? Ridiculous these pale skinned people! "

A man with darker skin, a turban on his head and a book in hand, stood on the table to attract attention. Everyone else around him who seemed to be his allies looked up at him in awe.

“We don't let a ridiculous curse scare us! Our Sahara desert is not, and I will not repeat, infested with a desert spirit. Whoever cast this curse may be found and beheaded. ”Everyone cheered and clapped their hands loudly. “This desert spirit should rather be afraid of us, because we are the sand in the heat, the dunes in the distance and the illusion of the mirage. If anyone has to be afraid, it is the pale skinned! "

Renewed cheers and shouts.

"And now drink, my friends, drink to our speedy victory!"

They ate, enjoyed themselves, laughed together and told each other the heroic stories they had experienced on the battlefield. But then one of her guards came running, panicked, his face drenched in sweat and his hands stretched out into the sky. Everyone immediately quieted, focused on their ally, whose skin had turned pale.

"Sir! Sir! ”He shouted angrily. “A heavy sandstorm is raging outside the gates. He's coming straight to our castle. "

The ostentatious Arab who had given the address rose from his chair and ran after the guard who wanted to show him the impending catastrophe. A gigantic tornado reared up in front of the clay houses. The few residents fled to the streets to escape the sandstorm. He had never seen such proportions before.

But he neither moved nor disappeared. That was extremely unusual for a sandstorm. While no one was running around in the streets, he looked down at the steps and saw a woman with a gallant step. She didn't seem to be afraid of the sandstorm.

"Mr? Who is that? ”The guard asked frighteningly. They both leaned even more over the edge of the balcony to look at the woman. She threw her head back when she must have noticed their looks.

"Open the door, my friend," he ordered and he immediately hurried down the stairs to order the others to allow the woman outside.

The Arab sat down on his throne and waited for the woman to enter the room. Everyone was talking to each other and trying to explain why there was a raging sandstorm in front of their castle that did not move.

The master of this house had a vague guess. Desert, sand, at night and a strange woman who did not seem to see the catastrophe as a threat. Could the story be true?

Suddenly everyone went silent as the mysterious woman came up the stairs. Her feet were bare. There was only a white silk dress over her body. Underneath she wore a gold coin-cloth garment that rustled as she walked.

At first the Arab thought that she was a rich woman from his circles, but then he discovered that flawless, too perfect skin in her. The purity she embodied made her seem almost inhuman.

"Here I am, sir," breathed the woman with the straight, hazel hair. Her eyes were as green as the emeralds the Arab wore on his fingers.

"Who are you, woman?" He growled and some guards were already surrounding her from behind. But the woman still didn't feel threatened. Something had to keep her safe. Could it be the sandstorm outside?

"I am the grain of sand in the wind, the whisper at night, in fire the silence and in wars the power," she gave him a tip and at the same time he changed the color of his face.

Angry and frightened, he rose from his throne and ordered his guards to attack the woman, but she raised her hand considerably. "Take a step too close and this sandstorm will suffocate all residents around the castle."

They paused and looked at their master for help. This bit angrily on his teeth because the curse he had just scoffed at was just before him. Her name was Lilit. According to the so-called Bible, she was a kind of night ghost and desert demon at the same time. A northern white-skinned scholar cursed the Arab when he tried to plunder his wealth.

"What do you want from me, demon?" The Arab cursed, stepping down from his high platform. 'Did that white-skinned one send you? To kill me? "