"Amon, how about a run?" Cyril asked, walking along the sidewalk.
The hot sun shone on the streets of the Southern district, where the aristocrats and the rich lived. One by one, the carriages passed by. Despite the golden spokes of the wheels, the sled horses left behind the same manure as the horses of the poor.
Cyril broke into a run.
He refused to take a cab and only asked how fast the demons ran when one of the succubi caught up with him. The sexy demoness not only accompanied him to the gate so that he would not get lost in the garden, but even risked being brazen.
Cyril refused to give the beauty a portion of his seed, but promised to call back.
"Amon, I know we're safe, but let's cooperate, man."
A passer-by in an expensive doublet turned strangely at the running barefoot man, not sure who the runner was talking to. Cyril had been running for several minutes, but his speed remained the same as that of any untrained person. His lungs were starting to burn.
"Look, I know that demons run faster than horses, so don't fuck with me." He said, trying not to catch his breath. "Let's pick up the pace."
The young couple stepped aside to let sweating Cyril pass.
"I can get angry." Cyril said. "But it's much more convenient to work in a team based on rational interests. So what you say?"
The demon inside him was silent, and the sun turned the paving stones into a hot plate. Cyril paused to catch his breath.
"Ugh, okay." He said, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. "Fuck..."
A trio of horses rattled by with their hooves, leaving a neat pile behind. The pile of shit was immediately crushed by gilded wheels with tires of local rubber.
"What a sad fart you are." Cyril complained, and looked around. "As far as I remember the map, I need to move straight. I had to leave the Southern district and am now entering the Judicial district. On the border of Judicial and Butcher districts stands a bathhouse, the residence of the Clean Heel clan is a stone's throw away."
Cyril stomped on the hot stones and looked for shade.
The Southern and Judicial districts, as well as the entire South of the city, were rich. The Southern district was considered more respectable, although to the east was the Golden district, which fully corresponded to its name.
Cyril caught his breath and continued to move forward.
He decided to put off trying out demonic speed until he could at least get his breath back. Not to mention that running barefoot on a hot rock wasn't the smartest idea.
He crossed the road and walked along the shady side. The sun was quite high, so the shadows pressed against the walls. Cyril followed their example and moved closer to the high fence.
"Bah, what a man!"
He looked up and saw a ginger man with three men on each side.
"Do I know you?" He asked, trying to figure out who he was facing.
Cyril didn't stop, but the four strangers turned and walked beside him.
"Look at this." Ginger said to one of his friends. "First this guy took our Clara away, and now he doesn't want to recognize us."
"That's a shame." The friend who looked like a shriveled prune agreed.
Cyril remembered where he'd met these guys. They bumped into each other outside the bathhouse just after Cyril and Clara had gone to the mechanic's office. What was the name of the ginger? Philemon? Feofan? Farhat?
"Ah, it's you." Cyril nodded without a trace of a smile. He was still breathing heavily. "I thought you were just hard workers. What did you forget in the rich people's district?"
He asked it casually, out of an old habit of dialogue, as he was used to knocking on doors. He could have ignored them, though.
"You're right, boy." Feoktist (!?) said.
'Fuck, I don't remember.'
"You know, after you took Clara away from us, the baths stopped working."
"Oh, really." Cyril said, rather tonelessly, and continued on.
He wasn't going to stay here for a nice chat with four hard workers. Not after spending an entire day and night trying to find out that there was a Demon Lord inside of him.
Cyril wanted to try again to use Amon's power for his own purposes. Namely, to run and pay a visit to boring magicians as quickly as possible.
"Well, the water source is working." Fetax (!?) continued... Fuck, no. "But now the dirt doesn't go away."
"Damned inconvenient." The prune-like friend said.
The ginger man's gang moved alongside, but they kept their distance so that they could pin Cyril as close to the wall as possible. Prune grimaced and scratched his unshaven face.
"I'm sorry, guys, but I have to go."
"Barefoot?" Another friend, thin and wearing a cap, chuckled.
Cyril noticed traces of whitewash on the cap.
"Is it whitewash or do you, guys, love each other so much?" He asked.
Cyril felt himself getting annoyed.
"Haha, that's a great joke." The ginger laughed.
'What the hell is his name?!'
"We decided to earn a little money from the rich to afford better baths. We are doing redecoration here in a mansion. You know, you have to travel a long way just to clean up."
Ginger Fe... - God damn! - made a vague gesture, as if apologizing for the long conversation.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I'll go." Cyril said, and tried to walk between prune and the other man.
Walking along the wall, squeezed by tall men, was not very pleasant.
Cyril wasn't going to start a fight and wanted to go for a run first. If he was going to cause a mayhem today, it wouldn't be in the middle of the street! He cleared his throat, but the broad-shouldered repairmen closed ranks.
"Where's Clara, by the way?" Fe... fuck… Ginger made a grimace again. "We thought she was with you, but you're all alone, and you don't even have your boots on."
What was it? Compassion? The jubilation of a rejected jerk when he found out that he wasn't the only one who was denied by a failed bride of his? The ginger was taller and stronger than Cyril, and the three colleagues were not particularly fragile bodies. Even skinny in the whitewash. However, Cyril was willing to bet on their fragility.
"I'm just on my way to get her." Cyril said calmly, looking straight at Fe... fuck. "Are you going to let me pass or do I have to force my way through?"
Whitewash and prune grinned, and ginger laughed outright.
"Hahaha, you're funny." The ginger said, and even clapped Cyril on the shoulder. "I don't think you'll be strong enough to stop us if we want to hold you."
The hard workers dispersed a little, nodding their empty heads in unison. Cyril took a confident step and noticed that the rich people were trying to avoid the group of workers. Someone even turned to the other side of the street.
"See?" Gunger said good-naturedly. "We don't want anything like this, especially in a decent neighborhood."
"Yeah." Cyril snapped, skirting the prune.
He took a couple of steps and almost left the workers behind when a third friend stood between him and freedom. This one was particularly broad-shouldered and unshaven. He smelled of alcohol and sweat. He also nudged Cyril with his shoulder.
'That was a bad idea.' Cyril thought, and his eyes lit up. 'Are you awake now, Amon, sucker?!'