Scarab patiently waited in line for a coffee, and the line was big indeed. But Scarab didn't care. He had bigger problems to worry about. And those problems were desperately trying to find a way in his mind. Every time he was alone, they just popped in and said hello. The voices assuring him he was going to die. The trauma of it all. His family being murdered in front of his eyes. The horrible flashbacks appeared in his head. Wolf's dead body kept playing in his mind. Kharatak's dead eyes as he took the mask of his dead carcass. He took a deep breath.
"Next please." the cashier said. Scarab looked around to see it was his turn to order.
"Oh. I would like a... decaf with an extra shot of espresso, please."
"Coming right up. That would be $6.99, please."
"Damn," he whispered as he took out his wallet. He tapped his card and reluctantly waited for his coffee. Ten minutes later, a man came up to his table, handing him his drink and a tissue.
"Your drink, s-!" the waiter slipped and spilt the coffee all over Scarab.
"Oh shit! I'm so sorry, I really am." The waiter apologised. He leaned closer to Scarab.
Scarab felt a knife barely touching his stomach.
"Don't move or make a scene." the waiter whispered.
Scarab already knew was was going to happen. He was at a sorcerer coffee shop, so he could kill him right now. But he had a feeling. A feeling that he needed to live. A feeling that he would be useful.
Scarab rolled his eyes.
"Whatever," Scarab said, bored of the fanatics in his life.
YOU ARE READING
Diablerie
FantasyThe world is ridden by sorcerers, mages and the flourish of magic. Two detectives in this world seek to destroy the threat that is lurking in this world. But disaster strikes. What can they do to save the world?
