The gray skies turned dark. The rain stopped, and the city was covered in a fresh earthy smell.
The full moon cast light on the old man sitting at a wooden table. He was reading a journal.
“Ze Thirty-Six Legions of Demons are a sect vich originated in ze medieval,” he mumbled as he was adjusting his reading glasses.
The small table lamp shed light on to the book but kept most of the room in darkness.
Alarmed, he raised his head. The sound of heavy breathing broke the silence.
“Where is it?” a deep voice said impatiently from a dark corner. “Where is the Codex Gigas?” Baal said, stepping closer.
“You’ll never get it, you demon. I’d rather die than give it you and your Thirty-Six fanatics.” The old man stood up shivering.
“Don’t worry, old man. Your wish is my command.” Baal charged at the old man.
His strong hands squeezed the old man’s throat. He went to his knees, desperately gasping for air.
“Tell me, where is it?” Baal said again, letting go of the old man.
“Never,” the old man said, coughing heavily.
“So it be.”
His fingers wrapped again around the old man’s throat, squeezing it.
The old man grabbed Baal’s wrists in an attempt to free himself.
“Last chance, old man. Where is the book?”
The old man held his throat, saliva dripping from his mouth. He was silent.
Baal grabbed his throat again, squeezing even harder.
“Never!” the old man gasped. His hands weakened and he let go from Baal’s wrists. His pale face turned whiter than snow.
Baal felt the weight of the old man’s head falling to the side.
“Stupid old man,” Baal mumbled, letting go of his throat.