The Devil's Scales

A damp sea breeze blew in from the coast toward this small town on the outskirts of Alexandria. The mute girl caught the salty, wet scent it carried and wrinkled her nose. She lifted her head, finally making the first movement Tom had seen from her since he arrived.

There was still no reflection of the street in those large, hollow, lifeless eyes. The ugly scars still sealed away the senses she longed for like shackles, and she could not see the rare sight before her—

The pedestrians on the street had frozen in that moment. They were crammed together like some ugly monster covered in arms, trampling their neighbors' bodies as they desperately reached toward the silver coin in the middle of the street, which was slowly melting in a glowing crimson hue.

It lost its original exquisite shape like a piece of ice turning to water, slowly seeping beneath the gravel-paved road. The scorching heat melted the sand into rough glass blanks, and the molten silver tangled with the unshaped glass, sending up blackened smoke. As the smoke rose, it condensed into a devil-like form, twisting into a perverse and terrifying smiling face. Playfully, it split off a claw and shook hands one by one with the townspeople reaching for it, like an overworked devil patiently and efficiently signing contracts that would satisfy each starving customer.

A trace of pity flashed through Tom's eyes as he witnessed all this. In Herpo the Foul's eyes, it became a prophet's hesitation over a future he had not yet seen, and that made the hand he controlled even more excited. The devil's claw brushed over people's fingertips, mixing a drop of murky black ink into the souls leaking away under their heavy burden.

Tom's heart sank into hesitation. He did not