The demon's voice echoed through the chamber, slow and deliberate, each number a hammer blow against the children's fragile hope.
"Two."
The man on his knees trembled violently. His eyes were wide, wet, pleading. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, mixing with tears and dirt. His lips moved in silent prayers no one could hear.
Luca's hands were still folded. His eyes still closed. His lips still moving, whispering words learned in a chapel that felt a million miles away. He did not know if God was listening. He could not stop praying.
"One."
The salesman demon smiled.
His black eyes gleamed in the sickly green light, reflecting the fear, the hope, the desperation of the children watching. His hand tightened on the man's head, claws pressing against the skin, drawing blood that ran down the man's face like tears.
The man whimpered, a small, broken sound. His bladder let go.
Warm urine spread across his legs, pooling in the mud.
He did not care.
