The game is rigged

The tempo slowed down as Christophers walked towards the house. The large paved road had, by this time, branched out to a path, which became more apparent from the sound of wet gravel hitting the boots. A wooden sign attached to some chains right outside the large entrance fluttered in the wind, reading Societén. The yellow, wood-reflecting light was shining inside, showing heads moving around. Displaying that the place was crowded with people. He reached the door and grabbed the handle.

Opening the door, a stream of warmth and the scent of food hit him. But it was the familiar smell of ale that was strong. He entered the entrance room; it was small and damp, with walls made of wood and where the sounds of music were muffled by jackets hanging on hooks. The room itself felt more like a small passage to the other party rooms. As his eyes scanned the surroundings, he saw a large man with arms folded and a baton on his own hilt staring condescendingly at him. And there's the bouncer.

The man had a large brown beard and, quite frankly, looked as if he could wrestle a bear as much as he reminded of one.

"What do we have here? A bit too young for the Societén, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but I'm not here for Ale. I'm looking for a certain Frederik Hyllemann."

The man scoffed and smiled, seeming more amused than threatened.

"Old Frederik must have really outdone himself this time. You won't cause any unnecessary fits, will you? It would be a shame to throw you and that nice coat in the mud outside."

I'm not the first?

"I'll be nice."

The bouncer looked at Christopher's poker face for a second before giving a sigh.

"Frederik Hyllemann can be found in the cellar; leave a tip to the nearby bartender on your way out and have a nice visit."

The man gently stepped to the side, revealing a door that had been behind his massive figure. Christopher accordingly proceeded to the next door. Entering the main room, a stream of impressions hit him, the smell of ale mixed in with smoke, vomit, warm food and hot air from the mass of people in there. The room was large, containing perhaps a hundred people, mostly middle-aged and above, singing Schnapps songs and laughing. For such a large gathering, it was quite cramped in between the round wooden tables, although it was well-lit. A strong yellow light matched with the same coloured walls, which blended wallpaper and wood comfortably. So this is where the working class disappears after a long day.

The sounds of instruments clashed in several corners of the room as guests had free-lanced their own shows from guitars, harmonicas, saxophones, and even an accordion. In the middle of the room, like an island, a large bar was centered, with a handful of bartenders running around on the little alcohol-filled Island that fishermen and carpenters flocked around like seagulls. On the shelves, an impressive assemble of own brewed beers, whiskey, vodka, and rum brands which the eyes had not seen in months and years, was gathered. And at the bottom right of the loud pub, a staircase could be seen leading both up and down. Oh, I'm finding you now, you little cunt.

Without further thought, Christopher began heading diagonally through the crowded room, feeling the warm air and breaths of snuff as he passed them. Effectively passing by the round tables in his sober state. Finally reaching the staircase, he grabbed the rail, which was surprisingly smooth. Looking down the stairs, he saw a dark pit which looked ever so slightly lit. He began to slowly walk down the stairs as the bright light from above disappeared and was replaced with a darker room. How comforting to enter the funny smelling backrooms… He could barely see anything as he reached the last staircase and was fully down. He closed his eyes hard for a second for them to readjust to the new lightning. With eyes closed, his other senses took control; the smell of tobacco was more prominent, and the loud noises from above had yet again become more snuffled down here. However, more silent and private. He opened his eyes again and saw how the cellar was almost equal in size to the room above, yet much less crowded. It was sparsely lit up by some light bulbs. The walls were still yellow and wooden like the pattern above, and the room was filled with about half the amount of tables compared to the room above.

He silently stepped to the side to not block the stairs and searched with his eyes in the dimly lit room. Directly to the left of him was yet another bar, this time stretched against the walls, yet a lot less busy, with only one man keeping the front. Christopher looked over to the tables in front of him, which were lightly attended, he searched for someone amongst this more silent and depressed gathering of people for his imaginary Monopoly man. I could ask the bartender.

He yet again returned his gaze to the bar, where a man stood with a hairline stretched further away than the gates of heaven. The bartender had a dark moustache and tired eyes. He doesn't seem too busy. Those droopy dark eyes of the bartender locked immediately with Christopher as he made his way over.

"What do you want then, lad? There is no rum and coke because we don't have coke…Or at least not the sugary kind." Wait, they have coke here? No, not now get the money. Focus…

"No, I'm not looking for that. I'm looking for a man called Frederik Hy-" Before he could finish his sentence, the bartender pointed a thin, long, pale finger at the middle of the room.

"You are about forty-five minutes late on that ball. Pleasure being of service." The bartender said, returning to his silent work of drying up washed glasses. As Christopher turned his head, he saw yet another hand holding a cigar in the air.

"Is it this man that you are looking for?" The voice was masculine and clearly drunk. The cigar-holding hand was located in the middle of the dim-lit room, cloaked in a cloud of smoke; he saw three figures sitting around a table. Trouble, I spot it once, I spot it twice and even thrice.

Without a word further, he shifted his whole body towards where the voice had come from. Resting his left hand easily on the sword hilt, he began to slowly walk towards the figures sitting around the oak dark table. The basement was of a rather quiet nature in comparison to what was above; the only sounds that could be heard down here, were the muffled sounds of music and chatter from above, the window tapping from the rain outside and the slow steps of Christopher slowly approaching the trio.

"Do you have Frederik sitting there?" he said with mustered bravery and accumulated anger he had gathered the past hour. The cigar in the air along with it's arm began moving down like a snake into the smoke cloud. Following the hand he saw how the cigar returned to the figure furthest left.

"Yes, we have him here, come closer and state your business." The man on the left said. Upon coming closer, he saw how the man on the left had his legs stretched out on another chair nearby. Hired guards?

"Oh you are a young one, and look at that! He even carries a sword, Ahmed!" The man on the left said to the man furthest to the right. Closing in he saw how the left man was maybe in his fifties or sixties, yet he lacked that common belly-equipped stature many his age had. His hair was shoulder length, blonde-grey with a stubble for a beard that looked like sprinkled snowflakes on his chin. The man returned the cigar to his pointy face and took a breath of smoke. Pinning a pair of blue-grey eyes on Christopher.

"I remember how I was that age, but don't fool yourself into any violence now." The man warned, heaving out yet another cloud of smoke that covered his bright green coat.

"Now, what is your name and what is your business with Frederik?" The man said, gesturing to the second figure in the middle who sat crawled and hunched up.

"I'm Christopher, and I would like to speak with the bank director about embezzlement…"

The green-coated man on the left smiled with teeth shifting white to yellow, before looking to his colleague to the very right, and then back to Christopher.

"It seems that we have a common interest. Name is Orup!" The green-coated man said, holding up his right arm for a handshake.

Suspicious about the trio, he cautiously took Orup's hand and shook it. On coming closer in on the crew, he finally got a decent look at the man in the middle. The man was undoubtedly Frederik, yet he did not quite fit the descriptions of a monopoly man. Frederik was a plump man carrying a suited vest above a white shirt. He sat there scared, and quiet, with a black eye on his face and a swollen under lip. Seems like they, beat me to it… haha…pun…

Frederik's face, besides a black eye, was decorated with a brown moustache that ran down from his lips like a large bird that had died. His hairline was pushed so far back that it formed a U-shape from above.

"Now, I am surprised though, Christopher, that a normal, upstanding civilian such as yourself would try to find Frederik with a sword ready and prepared."

Orup said, letting go of Christopher's hand. As he returned back into his comfortable position on the chair, he began to rest his hand on his own Sword hilt. Balls, he's armed.

Dotting from the silent threat of Orup's sword hilt, he began to move his eyes to the man on the very right apparently named Ahmed.

Observing what he was up against, he also noticed the main source of the thick cloud of smoke. The man on the far right was of similar age to Orup with a clear Middle Eastern origin both by name, appearance and the large water pipe he was carelessly gurgling on. The man seemed at ease and less in the belief that Christopher was an actual threat. Or perhaps he was to high to notice.

Two elderly men and one prisoner. I did, after all, kill a Demon the other day; how hard can this be?

"What do you think, Ahmed? Stupid towns boy who bought a sword? Perhaps served as a militia?"

Switching his gaze back to Orup, he saw how the hand thumbed calmly on the sword hilt with yet another blossom from the brown cigar. They are also under influence.

Ahmed removed his lips from the water pipe; he had long grey hair tied up into a bun, clean shaved with bushy eyebrows. "Hmmm, how old are you Christ-oph?" The man said in broken Swedish.

"Soon to be twenty."

Ahmed squinted his eyes towards the hip.

"Twenty…hmmm… Perhaps… he is… mailman?"

I don't have time for this.

"Look, I had money tied up in Frederik's bank, I'm only here for compensation. My business is with Frederik only."

Ahmed looked over Frederik's shoulder, to Orup, who locked eyes with him and shrugged his shoulders. Orup then returned his eyes to Christopher and stared at him for a few seconds before saying.

"You're a bounty hunter, aren't you?"

Now he knows that I mean business, the old shits.

Christopher silently nodded as he looked down at Orup. Their eyes met in a lock for a couple of seconds, before Orup suddenly began smirking.

What's so funny?

A small laughter soon followed from Orup as well as a coughing sound as Ahmed choked on the vapour of his next blossom.

"Didn't think I would find a youngling colleague, in this town, at this time of the day, this part of the year and for this reason."

Huh?

Orup removed his legs quickly from the now-empty chair.

"Do you hear that, Frederik? It seems like we aren't the only bounty hunters you keep credit score on." Orup said, ecstatic about his newfound acquaintance. Frederik, barely able to keep his head above his shoulders, nodded. Well, shit. There went my leverage and my odds of beating their asses.

Ahmed continued to cough out smoke as Orup leaned in like a Golden retriever.

"So, what was it? Loans? Stocks? Savings?"

I don't have to give out such information to them.

"Stocks."

Fuck, think before you speak.

Orup shined up, perhaps from a shared enthusiasm.

"Ah, I see…so much for historic growth these past eight years…" The smile faded away as Orup's eyes looked away to the distance.

"Anyways, how much do Frederik owe you, we might have a collectable sum for you. Colleagues in-between."

Christopher eased the grip on his hilt whilst he looked at Orup with an inspecting gaze. Knowing well that the quality of his poker-face were gonna bestow its worth in cash.

Holy shit, this might be easier than I thought! Okay, calm down; think fast. The original sum was seventy-one-thousand. But the current price should be forty-three thousand. Yet I also need to be smart and not push the amount too high. Else they will call a bluff, so not above seventy-one, think quick of something in between!

"Thirty-two thousand crowns he owed me."

Shit.

"Shit, just barely worth the trouble, youngling. Ahmed, bring the bag!"

And as commanded, Ahmed coughed up his last vapour cloud before he turned his body left and reached behind Frederik's chair. Returning back up, he had a large suitcase which he laid on the round table. Ahmed glued eyes with Christopher as he placed his fingers on the zipper and began pulling it. As the case opened, a feeling sprung across Christopher.

Like Christmas morning.

The case contained stacks of five-hundred crown bills held together with rubber bands. It's so beautiful! Mon beau, there is true love!

Orup reached in with his hands towards the case and grabbed a bundle.

"Can you believe it? Old man Frederik, got a whiff on the terrible news in Russia and knew the treasure wouldn't sustain panicked bank withdrawals."

Orup picked up six bundles of stacked cash and then began flipping through the notes on each bundle, counting the notes.

"Now, I'm retiring as a bounty hunter actually, but I can see that you still have some time left on you. So I'm going to be nice and give you sixty thousand crowns! See it as a passing of the torch."

"You are?" Christopher said baffled about the generosity.

"Come on! Someone needs to keep up the good fight! And that sword of yours is a bit childish, don't you think? Time for a new one?"

Fuckssake, him too?

In chock by the gesture, he reached for the money that was on the table.

"I-I don't know how I can thank you! I really need the mon-"

Before he could even touch the money, Orup laid his forearm in front of the stacks and dragged them backwards towards himself.

"Ah, before you get anything; we want something from you young bounty hunter!" Orup said rashly with that juvenile smile returning.

"Keep us company, share a drink with us and old man Frederik. Let's share stories about some adventures, shall we?"

Cock. Doesn't matter; it will still be the easiest and best-paying job. Share my wits.

"Fine then, I will share a drink, but I'm not paying for them!"

Orup cracked a burst of laughter loud as he tapped on the chair he had before had his feet on.

"Sit down! Ahmed, go buy us a round! Surprise us, will you!"

Reluctant and high on nicotine, Ahmed rolled his eyes as he began his journey; meanwhile, Christopher planted his bottom on the gestured chair.

"So, Christopher! Tell me a little bit about yourself! A short presentation for me and Frederik!"

Should have brought a resume.

"Well, I'm a nineteen-year-old bounty hunter; I started my own little business about one year ago, and a little bit more when my studies suddenly got abrupted by an incursion. Ever since I have roamed around in the south, taking on small jobs just to keep me afloat."

"So you have not been up north then?"

"No. "

"A shame and a blessing then. Your stories are probably more tame then, but your sanity should be as well. I used to serve in the front; If you are in it for the cash, I suggest you seek jobs north. The state, as well as the church, pay good."

Well, I'm not sure how much I wanna commit to this profession yet.

"Interesting… I will keep it in mind." Christopher said shortly.

Well, this is fucking dry; Ahmed needs to hurry up with those drinks.

"But, if you have not been north, you must be a southerner, and I only heard of one incursion that happened down here as of the past years…"

Orup said in a thoughtful manner piecing together a puzzle.

"You're from Jönköping…"

Complying with the accusation, he nodded without making eye contact with the senior bounty hunter.

"…I'm sorry about that."

Orup placed his eyes to the far distance as if he was seeing something no one else could see. He then did a little rhythmic clapping on his knees with his hands before breaking the far-away stare and turning towards Frederik.

"So then, banker. While we are here, waiting, I have a curious question about economics."

Frederik looked as if he was keeping himself away from sleep as he lifted his heavy head and glimpsed through his working eye towards Orup. With a voice dry and shaky, he answered.

"A-ask away, sir."

"Well, I have always found it interesting how the state of currencies did not escalate and lose worth when the whole shenanigans began. It's almost as if the crown and Euro have been increasing their worth over time. Why is that?" Orup asked as if it was a plain and normal conversation topic one would have with a hostage.

Frederik sat up a bit as he threw his back towards the backrest, licking his lips before speaking with visible sweat pearls on his forehead.

"Well, it's an interesting phenomenon that they studied in München. Typically during market crashes and other Armageddons, we usually experience inflation. And that's exactly what we did in the first months of the first year of the conflict." Frederik said, swallowing a mouth of saliva before gathering his next sentence.

"But since the green cometh, right out, blew out satellite signals, a lot of digital assets got lost."

It's tragic and comedic that during the realization of demons and the following existential dread. A bunch of dipshits on Wall Street still cared about the stock market… Especially since I, the biggest dipshit, still decided to bet against the house six years later…

"So, suddenly, cash was king again, making it the only payment method available. The sudden wipeout of people's bank accounts caused chain events that wo-" Orup held up his hand in the air like a stop sign.

"Okay-okay, I get the jist of it. You know that you get very boring when you start yapping?"

Frederik scoffed behind the brown moustache of his, giving a sour eye to Orup.

"But, hell. Even the nerds are going rogue now. What were you even going to do with all that money?" Orup asked. I almost feel bad for Frederik. But then again, there are crueller things than a rich man being beaten for fraud.

"Had I known you, scoundrels, were here, I would not have stalled, and I would have taken the first ship to Germany; I have friends in Holstein involved in the north-sea trade companies." Orup let out a whistling sound.

"Spoken like a true banks man, away to your next business. I hope you have good friends that will care for your miserable penny-less arse."

Christopher let out a small chuckle which made Frederik throw a glare at the audacity.

"Orup. You have to listen to me. There are over three million crowns in the suitcase, which is more than you had on all three accounts togeth-"

"And it's certainly more than you had pig! I will give you four thousand, enough for your boat trip to Germany. And from there, I don't care whether your friends take you with open arms or you beg on the streets of Kiel."

Frederik swallowed and stared with his one wide-open eye at Orup, about to speak his mind. But before he could say anything he would regret, Ahmed suddenly drummed an assembly of booze down at the table on a silver plate.

"Three pilsners! Four shots of vodka and three scotch!" Ahmed said with enthusiasm, less tired than earlier. He let out a relieved sigh as he took a seat next to Frederik.

"Tonight-" Ahmed said as he reached for the Vodka shots and handed them to Orup and a baffled Frederik.

"We celebrate-"

He gave the third shot glass to Christopher with eyes like fireworks before he reached for his own shot glass.

"-That everyone here is rich except Frederik!" Without thinking, Christopher let out a cackle that resonated with the other two bounty hunters and less with Frederik, who became increasingly red like a thermostat.

"Bottom-up!" Ahmed finally said as he and Orup poured the shot. Feeling a bit at ease with this duo, he poured the shot into him. The Vodka felt smooth for a brief second, and then it left that burning feeling as it passed down the throat and left a warm sensation down his heart. In response to the vodka, he saw how both he and Orup instinctively made that grimace of bitterness as it went down and spread heat and looseness like a leaping fire.

Perhaps, out of bitterness or plainly giving up on keeping his pride, Frederik rolled his eyes and downed the shot as well. Well, off to a good start then for our night.

The sound of a gurgle came from Ahmed's direction. Christopher, caught with surprise, looked whence the sound came. Upon seeing Ahmed gurgling the shot around in his mouth as if it was mouthwash, he reached for a bucket that laid down near the floor and spat it out.

"I can barely tell whether you are a Muslim or just a joker." Orup said with an eyebrow raised.

"What Habibi? The Quran states that I can't drink alcohol. I tasted it! There's a difference!" Ahmed responded with a deadface. Shouldn't there still be small amounts of alcohol that's lef… why even bother.

"Well, shouldn't the point of following a religion be to do something for the sake of believing in the core message? Like, why believe in the first case if you are gonna be half-assed about it?" Ahmed lifted a finger in the air and reached for one of the scotches on the table.

"That's a decent point, Habibi, but you forgot to factor in that there are Demons in this world, and I'm not spending the rest of my afterlife in Jahannam!"

Ahmed said, taking a sip of the scotch before quickly spitting out in the bucket again.

"I don't even understand how you can go around calling yourself an atheist in these circumstances!" Ahmed fended.

"Hey! I have become more agnostic lately. Besides, I have only seen signs of hell and the existence of the so-called dark gods. I don't see any Jesus handing out miracles to us." Orup replied, grabbing a long glass of beer on the silver plate. Seemingly as the two had now disappeared into a theological debate, Christopher and Frederik had become air. The young bounty hunter and the plump banker locked eyes as they shrugged shoulders and reached for the remaining Pilsners on the silver plate.

"Habibi, you are not right in the head. Devils and Dhjins walk the earth and kill in the name of Satan. And you think that Allah is not real?!"

"No, no. All I'm saying is that there are many versions of God and gods, yet there is no evidence supporting any of them." Orup defended already one-third down his drink.

"What, do you think the devils are Aliens or radioactive frogs then?" Ahmed said in a ruse, seemingly ready to throw a fit.

"What the fuck do I know? Maybe? It dosen't help that the institutes know so frighteningly little about them!"

This beer was a bit too tart for my taste, but the show is entertaining.

Ahmed suddenly turned his body towards Christopher.

"Listen. Habibi, what do you think?"

Oh shit, now I'm involved.

Ahmed expectedly stared at Christopher, waiting for a good answer, while Orup leaned back on his chair. Steadily awaiting a response with eyebrows raised and mouth tucked in.

"What I think? Uhm…"

"Don't stall around it Christoph, do you think any kind of God exists?"

"Well…"

Christopher let out a big breath as he placed his hand behind his head.

"I mean, amidst the chaos of the world, I think it's rash to draw conclusions."

Orup let out a big "hah!" as he clapped his hands triumphantly.

"See! I am rational, Ahmed!"

Ahmed scoffed and shook his head as he looked away with disappointed eyes.

"You are all going to burn in hell anyways."

Christopher covered his mouth as he joined in with Orup in the light-hearted laugh. Even beaten, Frederik seemed slightly amused about the conclusion, although reluctant to admit it to his captors.

"After all, if you can kill it, is it really supernatural?" Christopher, in a chuckle, slipped out. Now even instinctively, both Ahmed and Orup laughed loud and clear at Christopher.

"HAH! Are you stupid boy? You can't kill a demon, that's why we are losing the war in the first place moron." Orup said manically trying to hold back his laughter.What?

"Nah, shut the fuck up. There is no source officially stating that demons can't be killed." Christopher responded with a murdered smile that turned into a frown.

"Don't be blue-eyed, Habib. The institutes are lying to you." Ahmed said with a large grin, taking yet more scotch to gurgle on.

"What? No! That's just rumours, you foil hats." Christopher said.Orup continued to laugh, wiping a tear off his cheek.

"You really are green, aren't you? The church and states deny such claims. Otherwise, they wouldn't get cannon fodder like you."

Christopher looked confused between the two bounty hunters who seemingly had become best friends again. So what about Moloch?

"I swear I just killed a demon the other day. How can you tell me that I didn't kill it?"

Orup took another sip of his beer and another blossom from the cigar he had left on standby.

"I have been up north since the second year of the conflict. As a soldier, as a mercenary and as a bounty hunter. I have seen us been pushed down. You have been toying with small trolls and demonically possessed rats."

Orup placed the beer on the bottom of his lip, tilting his head backwards as his hair dangled down, and he emptied the glass.

"Well, perhaps it's time that I tell you, my newfound friends, a story of my endeavours up north. "

Orup placed his hand inside the green coat of his, digging for something deep until is eyes lit up. He slowly pulled out a small brown pouch. He placed two fingers inside the pouch and dug further until he began pulling out another object which he then placed on the round table for Frederik and Christopher to see. Ahmed's face now looked less entertained as eyes stared at the object.

On the table was a long boned finger, larger than a human finger, which ended like a dagger-like claw. Nothing else but bone, but it was evident that it did not belong to an animal nor human.

"In the second year of the war, me and my brothers in arms, this was before I met Ahmed. We found in the desolated tundra of Lappland, an impressive catch of a demon."

Orup tapped on the cigar lightly to let the ash fall down on the round table.

"The creature resembled a mix of a bat in a humanoid form. It was over two and a half meters tall, it had the same body as a human standing on two legs, yet it was skinny and bony as if it had been starving. Long bony arms with claws like that." He said, pointing with the cigar towards the decimetre-long finger.

"It was covered in short dark fur, and it had a nasty bat like head, not the bat-kind with pig noses. The other type of bat but less cute, with long ears, red eyes and a mouth with filthy, sharp, uneven teeth."

He took the cigar towards his mouth and heaved in some smoke. He kept it down for a couple of seconds before he let it out with a big sigh. He then gave an empty smile.

"I killed that nasty fucker with an automatic rifle the government handed out to willing volunteers. Head exploded, and with a knife, I cut off a finger as a trophy. And the boys thought I was tough shit. And I felt like tough shit, fending off those pulps."

The smile disappeared for a second as he looked with eyes empty again at the table.

"The fourth year of the conflict, I was positioned as a sniper on a wooden guard tower little north of Arvidsjaur. It was an early March morning when I saw a tall, dark figure suddenly rise up from the marshes. This time I shot it in the chest with a plain hunting rifle I had brokered right after the old government collapsed."

Perhaps it was the smoke and booze, but the small round table the four sat around had begun feeling smaller.

"I didn't think of the appearance then."

Perhaps Christopher was just getting used, but the muffled sound above appeared non-existent.

"The sixth year of the conflict, I was fishing for food with a band of bounty hunters as we were on a rogue expedition in the then controlled Sollefteå." Orup let out a chuckle as his eyes tightened.

"This time, the bastard got one of my colleagues." Orup swallowed loudly.

"The demon had rushed from behind while our fronts were facing towards the lake. That time I killed the Demon with this sword." He said, taping the handle on his hip.

"It was the closest to hand. This time I even began connecting the dots with the memories."

He sat up and reached for the second glass of Scotch that was on the silver plate before leaning back in.

"But it was the fourth time that I was sure, in this current year as we are on the eighth year. This was months ago, a warm July night. I woke up hearing screeching right outside my tent. As I was startled, I hurried out of the tent, seeing how it had gotten stuck on the barbed wire that I always keep around before camping. It laid there with a leg covered in black blood, unable to move. This time I used a spear to rile through its neck."

Orup took a sip of the scotch and faded into silence. The cigar finally became too short as Orup put it out in the empty beer glass. Ahmed sat quietly as well; Christopher and Frederik threw some nervous glances at each other before Frederik opened his mouth.

"how do you know it was the same Demon? They sometimes carry the same traits, I've heard."

Orup took another sip of the scotch while his arms hung outside the chair.

"You are right, I still wouldn't have been sure… if it wasn't for what it said. Before I drove the spear through its neck, I walked towards it. It placed its red eyes upon me and began sounding. It reminded me of a frog croaking but darker as it spoke: Oo-ruupp, Oruupp."

It was hard to sit through the chill that ran across Christopher's spine as Orup said that.

"It was weird to hear it say my name, but it was as if it had just heard others say it, mimicking the sound of comrades shouting my name. Not fully understanding the concept of the name, just that the sound had been present when I had been there, the times before."

Orup picked up the brown leather pouch again and dug. He pulled up yet another long finger, just that this time, it was covered in black-blue fur with indications of some type of flesh beneath the skin.

"Isn't it identical!" he said, throwing the finger near the previous one.

"It's because it is."

The table fell into silence. Startled to speak up, perhaps afraid that the finger would come to life. Christopher took another sip of the Pilsner in his hand. The bitter tone was more pungent on this go. Orup suddenly blew some air through his nose, breaking his trailing stare.

"I guess you also got the story of my retirement!" He then said with a smile.

"After that encounter, I came to the conclusion that this war can not be won. I don't know whether it will take five or fifty more years until the sentence is written, but I wanna pick my last ones."

Frederik looked up towards Orup, perhaps with eyes more aware of the nature of his captor.

"So what are you going to do now?" He asked with a voice more gentle than before.

"Now? I wanna take a ship to Cyprus. Enjoy my days fat on goat cheese and wine. Perhaps meet a young Cyprian woman, away from the grey and dark weather of the north, away from the demons, an Island where Rome, Jerusalem and all the holy cities are encircling me."

Orup raised his glass in the air.

"To new beginnings!" he said. Christopher looked over to Ahmed, who followed raising his glass with Frederik second and himself last. That's depressing to hear after going net plus sixty thousand.

They all took a sip of their drinks in the silence as the mood slightly faded towards the better. I wonder though, if they know anything about being cursed and weird maggots crawling into your leg.

"What about you, Ahmed? Are you following him towards Cyprus?" Frederik asked while head turned towards the man.

Ahmed gurgled the whiskey in his mouth before he spat it out in the bucket.

"Cairo! And from there, I will make a pilgrimage towards Mecca. The things I have seen… I know that only the divine can wash away the thoughts that keep me up at night."

Frederik nodded while moving his lips behind the moustache of his. He then looked across towards Christopher.

"And you?"

Me? What am I going to do? Perhaps buy some better equipment. Horses have become trendy lately…

"Not sure, but I guess buying some better equipment would be something worth my time. I also need to check up on a wound I've got a couple of days ago from a demon."

Orup and Ahmed exchanged some looks with each other.

"A wound?" Ahmed asked.

"Well, kind off; two days ago, I kill-…defeated a Demon that gave me this."

Christopher went under the table as he pulled up the trousers on his left leg, and then carefully lifted it up on the table. And right there it was. A circle with a wavy line across it on his ankle. The senior bounty hunters leaned in with eyes wide as they observed the mark on him.

"Allah yarhamuni." Ahmed whispered with a stare hooked into that leg. Orups mouth was left wide open and speechless as he looked at the mark and onto Christopher's face. Small gasping sounds came out of his mouth; not sure what to say, it seemed.

They are fucking with me, aren't they?

Christopher let out a small chuckle as he looked between the two and then towards Frederik, who looked equally confused at him.

"What exactly is that wound, Christopher?" Orup asked.

"The demon that gave me this said it was a curse?"

"Said?! It Spoke loud and clear?! This far down south?!" Orup continued

"When and where did you see it last time?!" he said with his hand tighter than before on the sword hilt.

"I-I defeated it at a farm not far away from this town. Two days ago, I'd say. It had possessed an elderly, wounded man." Christopher responded, using his remaining sober ability to restrain his voice to sound unfazed. Orup looked once again towards Ahmed.

"It must have been a mare; only mares can possess its victim. And still, be defeated, at least by cocky southern boys." Orup said. His presence was one new Christopher had not seen even a glimpse of tonight. The eye bags looked heavy and darker on him, and the eyebrows were stiff as twigs.

"No shit, can't be the latter option… But he said he defeated it." Ahmed answered sharply.

Orup then again set eyes on the confused Christopher.

"What did it want?"

"What? What do you mean? The usual stuff of killing cows and incubating Barns? How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

"A mare is a category of demons that inherit intellect to learn the tongue of humans; they don't go on rogue missions away from the main force unless they want something." Orup hissed at him.

"Why does it matter? I defeated him, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't." Ahmed chipped in with wrinkles that pulled down heavier than before.

"What do you mean by that?"

"He didn't mention anything?! Anything of importance that he was searching for?" Orup continued talking over Ahmed. Christopher got silent as he looked between the three of them. Digging deep into his mind for the things that were spoken of that night in the barn."The demon…wanted to make a deal with me so that he could find a girl?" He finally spat out. The bounty hunters looked at each other for a minute with their eyebrows raised.

Orup's stern grip on the handle and strict facial expression seemed to loosen a bit as he placed a hand yet again on the glass of scotch in front of him.

"You are a daft one, aren't you?" Orup finally said.

The fuck?

"Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down? A girl? A girl? Oh, that's only half the population you fucking igloo."

What does he mean by an igloo?"Hey! I thought we were on the same team here?!" Christopher said, baffled by Orup's bluntness.

"Can't help a dying man." Orup answered, returning the glass of scotch to his mouth.Wait, did he say dying?

"A girl…" Perhaps taken of guard, everyone turned an eye to Frederik who had opened his mouth.

"I might be shooting in the dark with this one, but a couple of days ago, the local town militia had captured some sort of girl that seemed possessed. It was lots of rumours at least going around since it was a case no one in town had seen before." Frederik said, stroking his moustache, thinking deeply before snapping out of it when he noticed everyone glaring at him.

"I-I might just be mistaken! I don't know a lot about demonology!" he defended with arms in the air, perhaps afraid that he would get punched.

"Hmmm, maybe…maybe not…" Orup answered whilst scratching his stubbled neck.

"Uhh, wait. Before anything else now. What did you all mean by dying?" Christopher interrupted. Ahmed took a deep breath as he exchanged a look with Orup, who responded to the stare with a sigh. Orup then turned his body towards Christopher, seeming uneasy to speak his mind.

"Come on say it!" Christopher hurried. Orup took a deep breath and closed his eyes before opening them and staring with his own eyes into Christopher.

"The curse you have on your ankle… It's a mark of death. You will die in short time."

Die? What?

Christopher laughed in disbelief. But no one else at the table returned the feeling.

"You can't be serious? But I'm fine!" Christopher said, still smiling.

"You are not the first one that I know of to be cursed. Perhaps the youngest. Curses vary from demon to demon, but they all result in the same. Maybe three weeks, six if you are strong-willed, until you die."

Christopher continued to laugh in disbelief. So some bastard called Moloch can just end my life? Just like that?

"You guys are funny, but seriously now. What does the mark mean?" Christopher reached for his half-full glass beer, feeling thirstier than before. The duo continued to look at each other in unease; Frederik didn't even keep eye contact.

"We are not joking." Ahmed said calmly

"I'm sorry that you have to hear it this way, but we are fully serious, we have yet to find a prayer, antidote, or remedy to combat a mare's curse." Orup said. The now-empty glass of beer went down on the table with a loud crack. Christopher continued to puff out air through his nose as he slightly tilted his head up. He then swallowed saliva in his mouth loudly.

"So… what is going to happen to me? Am I just g-going to combust? Evaporate? Get possessed?" He asked.

"No, the fallout varies; sometimes you lose your sanity and become mentally deranged, you fall deeply sick, hallucinate, starve uncontrollably, either way. It all ends the same, unfortunately," Orup responded. Christopher placed two fingers on his forehead, beginning to blink rapidly until he closed his eyes and continued to look up. Without opening his eyes, he searched with his hands on the table. He felt the cold remaining glass and lifted it up.

"Christoph, are you alright?" Ahmed asked as the final and last glass of scotch was emptied within seconds and slammed on the wooden table. Christopher then took a couple of deep breaths.

"Well, I'm thankful for the evening, gentlemen, but I need to head home now."