DEMON HUNT

Chapter 59: The bishop

It's turned out to be an eventful night for all sides of the netherworldly struggle of the preternatural forces in Malvay. On the same eve of Frey's sent off on the one hand; Nicholas' overwhelming agony on the other, Malcolm is unable to sleep. Wrapped in a duvet, an attempt to keep out the cold, Malcolm's eyes refuse to shut. He just cannot fall asleep.

With the inability to sleep comes boredom. The boredom rises until it becomes absolutely unbearable, forcing Malcolm out of bed. He walks down a flight of stairs, holding a lantern to illuminate the way. The lantern is necessary for his unconditional disdain for bright lights at night. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be holding a light source at all.

Carefully placing his steps, he reaches his destination. It's a section of the building he is quite familiar with. One could call it Omero's favourite place in all of Malvay. The Omero he knew, anyway. Malcolm strolls into the library, putting off the lantern as he reaches a reading table- Omero's favourite. He then turns on a lamp fixed to the table, reducing its brightness considerably, no care for his dark grey pupiled eyes. He reaches for the second drawer, pulling gently. Scrambling through a bunch of old paperworks, Malcolm reaches a book. The cover of this book brings with it, a lot of memories.

Malcolm remembers asking Omero countless times for a chance to read this very book. A book authored by his very self. Omero somehow managed to persuade him to exercise patience, each and every time. Even when they'd compete in board games, the winner set to determine what happens with the book, Omero would dogwalk him, stomping him effortlessly. But now, now is different. Malcolm holds the book in his hands. A book with a fascinating title, to say the very least. Who else would have the desire to name a book '??'? Who other than Omero, Father's trusted tactician.

Omero often asked him questions, as part of research for the book. All this just made Malcolm all the more curious. He's long been an admirer of anything Omero produces with the stroke of a pen. The long wait is finally over. Malcolm opens the book, flipping to the first page with print. There's no acknowledgement or dedication section. Neither is there a table of content. It all just jumps to a page tagged 'Prologue'. There's nothing beneath the heading. There's just an empty space of fine paper, begging to be impressed upon. Malcolm finds this strange and underwhelming, but he flips on. The contents of the next page are in cursive form, making them a bit difficult for him to read. Malcolm does, however, get there in the end. He reads quietly, but vocally.

Malcolm: What can an ant do, knowing a great storm is coming. One that would lead to the end of its life?

That's all the page says. A puzzled Malcolm flips to the next page, reading in the same manner.

Malcolm: Knowledge is power. Power is corruptive. Does this mean knowledge is, therefore, an instrument of corruption?

Now consumed by his reading, Malcolm swiftly turns to the next page.

Malcolm: Is an executioner...a headsman, for example, supposed to love his job or hate his job? Which would be less insane?

After reading several pages of similar unanswered questions, Malcolm reaches the penultimate page. For the first time, there's actually a statement to read. 'I told you the book was shit'. Malcolm could hear Omero chuckle as he read that line.

The final page doesn't contain many words though. To it is attached a photo, seemingly showing a teenage Omero, holding a sword. He looks too young to be part of a modern army, and the monochrome photograph too old to be anything less than a hundred years old. Old, not because of its physical condition, but for the type of camera that must have been used, and the setting of the background. Indeed, there's a ship on the background of the photograph. The historically mighty 'blue frontier', Malvay's first ever locally produced ship sits majestically at sea.