Morne's shoulders tensed as he felt a gaze burning into his skull.
With a slow tilt of his head, his eyes landed on the Coltha.
The Coltha, now full-sized, grinned a wicked, disproportionately large grin back at Morne from across the table, like a skull covered in a thin veil of skin that wasn't tricking anyone.
Morne's mood went from tense and weary to alert and ready to bolt in an instant.
Only a fool of an Infutim, a non-Mage, would challenge a demon to a fight, especially one so powerful they could freeze time itself.
The demon, sensing Morne's aggravated mood, frowned. If before, the Coltha's grin, as stretched and horrific as it was, made Morne's legs flex with grim anticipation, this frown was enough to stop Morne in his tracks.
His blood ran cold, his arms and legs froze, and his heart beat fast that it was like the flapping of a hummingbird's wings.
"We can't have you running, now, can we?" asked the Coltha, whose frown eased somewhat into a thin line. His blue, pinprick-flame eyes regarded Morne coldly. "If you run, I'll kill you myself. There's no reason we can't be civil here. Got it?"
No response. Morne tried to open his mouth, but only clenched his teeth harder. He suspected he was under a weaker version of the Spell this Coltha had cast on the rest of the tavern.
"Oh, right!" The demon slapped his forehead before snapping his fingers.
The tension left Morne's body like air let out of a balloon, if that air had been released in an explosion. The air rushed out of his lungs and back in with that same intensity as he leaned back, arms limp, against the booth he sat in.
"There. Now, are you ready to talk?" the Coltha asked expectantly.
Morne didn't bother replying, even though he knew he needed to. Disrespecting a demon could easily mean the end of his life, but how could he speak if his body was too busy running on spent air?
Thankfully, the Coltha seemed to understand this and waited patiently. The Colthem were famous for their patience, said to rival that of the patience of death itself.
Finally, when Morne felt like he could muster a sentence, he asked, "what do you want, demon?"
"Straight to the point, I like it," nodded the Coltha. "Most mortals would ask 'where am I?' or 'what did you do to the others?' but you? You at least have an inkling of what I want. That makes this easier for the both of us."
"My question?" reminded Morne.
"First, tell me what you think I'm here for," the demon said, leaning back in the booth with a sly smirk. "The mental gymnastics you mortals run always provide my immortal soul with a flicker of amusement."
Morne replied at once, seeing no point in lying. "Either you're here to drag me back to those Ilnchan cultists as part of some deal between him and your master, or…"
"Or?" grinned the Coltha.
Morne gulped, praying he was right. "Or… you're here to Anoint me."
The Coltha's grin widened. It didn't stretch to the macabre mockery of life it had been before, but it was enough to unsettle the ex-slave.
"Only two guesses," applauded the Coltha, his thin, bony hands smacking together with none of the slaps of flesh on flesh. Instead, Morne heard only the rattling and clanking of bones against bones. "You're of passable intelligence, then."
"I just don't see any other reason for a demon to break the laws of Pevna," Morne replied honestly.
Pevna was the God of Time, and chief of the Benevolent Gods. Freezing time on a scale as large as this was heavily frowned upon, and could easily spell the destruction of the offending demon if he wasn't careful.
"Which is why we need to hurry this up," the Coltha remarked. "Don't worry, I'm not here to take you back to the followers of that brute, Ilnchan. It's the second one that I'm here for."
Leaning forward, the demon's eyes flared to the size of a coin, flicking back and forth on a grid so small Morne hardly noticed it, scanning the Infutim's face in uncomfortable detail.
Morne squared his shoulders and met the demon's gaze, burying the trepidation he felt deep within himself as his hazel eyes met the unyielding, cold emptiness of the blue fire. If what the demon implied was true, showing weakness now would only harm him.
Despite his determination, his gaze wavered first.
After thirty seconds, which felt to Morne like an eternity, he could no longer bear the soul-crushing weight hidden within those blue flames, and turned away, disgusted with himself.
In doing so, he missed the ever-so-brief flash of pleasure in the demon's gaze.
That emotion quickly switched to approval before fading into candidness as the demon's eyes shrunk back to normal size.
"Yes," the Coltha said, tapping his finger against the table with a CLACK not too dissimilar from the clap earlier. "I'm here to Anoint you. My lord, Jiklok, has deemed you a mortal worth keeping an eye on.
"Moreover," the demon continued, tapping the table once more. "I have another offer for you. This one has nothing to do with my lord, and will stay between us, if you value your life."
Morne nodded seriously, taking these words to heart.
"Your Towers," stated the demon. "I want them."
Morne frowned in confusion. He'd heard of Towers, but other than their supposedly integral role in a Mage's life, he knew nothing about them. He had never known a Mage, after all.
"Your talents in the Schools of magic," explained the Coltha patiently. "I want those."
Morne's frown only deepened. He had magical talent? Why had he never heard of this?
"There's hardly anything there," explained the demon when he saw Morne's expression. Of course a mortal wouldn't understand what he was talking about. "But I want them regardless."
More confusion.
Oh, well. Explaining wouldn't take away from his eternity. "As a Coltha, I am limited to the magic of my lord. It is only through deals like this that I can attain the power you see before you, even if it is a grain of Dust at a time."
When Morne answered, the Coltha couldn't help but grin gleefully.
"What's in it for me?" asked Morne.