Demon(#Wattys2017 Entry)

Chapter 59: Greed

Mar'ply sighed a bit, staring at the ceiling in his tent. He was troubled, looking at the sleeping form of Savir near him. He wasn't worried about her, not quite. Her power made her tough, and she'd always had a strong mind. The issue with Pynax earlier had been next to nothing, really, and she'd already recovered her senses.

No, if he was being honest, he was more worried about himself. Or more specifically, he was worried about what was his.

He carefully sat up in bed, so as to not disturb her, and walked over to the mirror. He looked for a moment, then shook his head. What was he worried about?

Of course, that Byrn fellow had been killed, but what of it? He was a madman anyways, best that he was dead. It wasn't that he had been killed, exactly, but that he had been able to be killed.

An Incarnate had great power, and the lengthened lifespan that traditionally came with it. That had been one of the main reasons he'd joined, for it was practically immortality, an immunity from death! And yet, here he was, considering the demise of one that, he had to admit, was far stronger than himself.

He looked at the mirror again and sighed, thinking back. How much he'd changed in his life. Why, even now, he could remember his youth.
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Mar had always been a warrior. Never a great one, for it was rare that he ever scored more than a glancing blow on his opponents' limbs. He'd never needed more than that, however, for that was enough to win most of the practice duels around the Deena city of Tirren, and it always saved him the trouble of having to explain a killing to the guards.

He stood across from one such challenger now. He was a tall man from high-ranking warrior family, by the name of Dai'Wara. Unlike most Deena, he was adept with a spear, and was one of the few these days who wore the traditional Deena armor in his daily life. He pointed to Mar and smirked confidently.

Mar drew his sword, sighing. It was a petty thing really, he'd but said something about how the armor must be hot. He knew that the few who actually wore the armor these days were overly prideful, but he hadn't cared much. He heard people muttering from the sides.

"Hey....That's the Ply boy, isn't it?"

"Seems like it...too one sided, if you ask me. Poor boy can barely trim a hedge."

"True...it'd be best if he just let the foe snap his blade and go on with his day."

Mar ignored these claims and drew his sword, walking forward.

Both opponents bowed, and Dai'Wara began to speak."I-"

Mar cut out instantly. His opponent had no time to react, could not raise his spear in time to block, only manage a startled yelp. Mar cut his face at a near-perfect angle, slicing through both of his cheeks and hearing the flesh apart.

His opponent howled in pain and dropped to the ground, putting a hand to his face to try and stem the tide of blood. Mar looked, seeing a lump amidst the blood."Piece of your tongue? Sorry about that." He turned."But, at least you won't try to waste time with damn heroic speeches. Serves you right." He walked off, hearing people rush towards the groaning man.
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He walked back to his home, sighing as he stepped inside. There, near the door, were five urns. A large silver one for his mother, and four smaller bronze ones for his brothers. He pat the large urn, nodding."I'm back." He chuckled a bit and walked into the next room.

There stood his father, an elderly Deena with his once golden hair cropped to an almost transparent silver film. He looked at him tiredly."Welcome back, son. Anything interesting happen?"