King of Lazarus

“So, who’s next?”

Beads of sweat dripped down the thugs’ faces as they exchanged glances. Their friend lay motionless on the ground, stiff as a log.

The brutal sound of his skull crashing grated on their skins like claws. In a single swing.

They watched Tristan smoke casually while holding the lady by her waist. Tall, long-limbed, terrifying. He looked harmless as an angel, but with the aura of death.

Their cold hands gripped the hilts of their daggers as Tristan glared at them, their own feet backing down in silent protest.

Tristan flicked his cigarette and stomped on it. With a sigh, he carried the lady back to the safety of the commune crowd. The woman flushed red to her ears as he gently put her down, covering her face in embarrassment.

“Please go home,” he advised the bystanders. And the crowd dispersed without a word, rushing back to their tents.

Then, he faced the thugs. “You can go home, too. I don't want to cause any trouble.”

They gritted their teeth in disbelief and at their own reluctance. With a growl, they charged at Tristan and flailed their blades, faintly glinting in the moonlight.

Tristan met them square.

In a blinding blitz, one of the thugs whiffed a straight thrust, then got tagged with blunt force to the jaw. Another flailed his dagger at Tristan, and met a crushing knee to the ribs, sending him sprawling on the ground.

The last demon froze as he watched his companions get clipped with ease. Then, Tristan strode towards him.

“Leave. Now," he warned, reeking of murderous intent.

He shook uncontrollably reading Tristan’s rage through his lips. With a scream, he hurled his weapon away and scrambled, leaving his fallen companions behind.

Tristan watched him scamper, then turned to the demons sprawled on the ground. He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering.

“What now?”

Suddenly, urgent boots stomped behind him.

Saul and his two apprentices huffed as they arrived. The old man stepped closer to check on the casualties and clicked his tongue.

"Oh, my nuts. Well, it can’t be helped.” Saul shrugged.

The apprentice with the scarf leaned in and nudged one of the thugs with a boot. He stared at something on the back of its hand.

A brand.

“Velgrand…”

The boy in shades nodded quietly. 

And the one with the scarf chuckled, smirking at Tristan. “I like this guy now.”

---

Back at Saul’s tent, Tristan sat on a worn-out couch, a few feet from Saul, who was at his desk completing a crossword puzzle. 

In deep thought, he quietly held a locket in his hand.

“Who are those demons?” he broke the ice.

Saul glanced at him for a moment, then went back to reading. “Ah, well, just local thugs that come here from time to time.”

The boy in the scarf snorted. “Yeah, you beat those lowlifes real damn good. Velgrand must be very angry by now.”

Saul turned towards him. “Johann. Don’t bother our guest too much,” he rebuked.

“They deserved it. I guess we found a competent bone breaker to scare that Velgrand away from us.” Johann retorted.

Saul sighed loudly, shaking his head. “James. Tape your brother’s mouth, will you?”

James adjusted his sunglasses and pulled out a roll of duct tape from a pouch, making Johann flinch.

Tristan watched the brothers wrestle playfully, then returned to his locket.

“About Velgrand...”

Saul glanced at Tristan for a moment.

“An underboss in this part of the city. He sends people from time to time to scare or harass us for 'sacrifices'."

“Sacrifice?” Tristan asked.

“Soul trafficking. You got gold in the human world, but down here, human souls are the currency. It's like slavery, although I'm not sure what they do with them.”

Tristan leaned back on his seat, crossing his legs. “Have you sacrificed anyone?”

Saul leaned forward, elbows on the desk.

“Never. And not under my watch.”

“Have you fought back?"

“We've stood our ground, that's it. We don't want to give the Godfather a headache.”

“Godfather?” Tristan whispered to himself.

Saul saw the look on Tristan's face and snickered, as if boasting about an old friend.

“The uncrowned king of the mafia, Don Falnero. You can call him the Demon King or Demon Lord or whatever cliché names you want, but this is a different hell from what you know.”

Tristan leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“This commune’s under his wing, and many others. He’s old—and surprisingly kind, for a high-level demon.” Saul said, then lamented, “However, he still has a lot in his hands. We can’t keep relying on him for our protection.”

"Mafia in hell?" Tristan pondered. Are demons advanced enough to live in an organized, albeit criminal society?

“Will they return?”

“Yes, they probably will. With the beating you gave them, Velgrand might come here anytime soon." Saul said, laughing it off. "But don’t worry about it."

Tristan gave him a silent nod. He noticed Johann at the corner of his eye, flashing a thumbs-up at him, grinning. Tristan smiled back a little.

— • —

“Boss! They’re here!” a frantic man shouted as he entered Saul’s tent.

“Who was it?” Saul asked.

The man froze. His throat bobbed as he gulped. He looked at Tristan, then back to Saul.

“Velgrand,” he replied.

Johann and James perked up, staring at each other.

Saul scoffed. "See? Speaking of the devil." He huffed up his chair with a groan.

“Don’t worry, boy. Let me get to business.” Saul assured as he took his coat off its rack. He motioned for Johann and James to follow him.

Tristan rose from his seat, watching them go as the tent returned to silence.

---

Saul strode towards the commune gate, passing through bystanders and anxious residents. He lived long enough to know the old, gentlemanly rules of engagement, which he proudly upheld. But he also knew times had changed.

“Boss, we should have brought him with us,” Johann whispered to Saul.

“No. He's a guest. This is our responsibility.”

Soon, a sleek, black vehicle came into view, parked by the gate. As he approached, the car's door swung wide, and a figure stepped out.

A youthful demon in a suit. Long fur coat with black feathers, whose hems touched the ground. Gold chains around the neck. Short, blonde hair.

Saul’s gaze sharpened. And the man in the coat gave Saul a glare.

“Saul! It’s so good to see you.” He said, arms open, mockingly welcoming.

“Velgrand.” Saul acknowledged bluntly.

Velgrand’s demeanor changed to a smug one. Saul tapped his cane on the ground with a firm thud.

“Let’s settle this here and now. Your men trespassed on our gates and tried to kidnap one of us. Leave, and we're even. No one gets hurt.”

“Come on, Saul. I’m not here to pick a fight. My men can do stupid things and die for all I care. I would be happy to get rid of them myself.”

Saul kept a stern look. “So what is this about?”

Velgrand smirked. “I heard that you have a very important guest with you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to meet him.”

“Why?”

"Because I said so." Velgrand answered dismissively."

Saul gritted his teeth. He had never seen Velgrand this aloof before. He's on to something, and right now, he'll do anything to get what he wants.

"I cannot do that. He is under our custody and this is the territory of the Godfather."

Velgrand scoffed. "Let's be real here, Saul. Do you think the old man can do anything if I raze your little camp to the ground?"

Saul's apprentices flinched.

"He wouldn't risk another dispute. Your group was just another one of his strays. If he loses you, he wouldn't lift a finger."

Before Saul could say another word, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"I heard you’re looking for me."

Saul's eyes went wide as Tristan marched past him.

Soon, Tristan was face-to-face with Velgrand. The latter's jagged teeth showed as he grinned from ear to ear.

"Finally. I've heard a lot about you..."

"...Grand Inquisitor."