Donavan waited in the dark crevice splitting the buildings on either side. He tapped his foot impatiently as each slow moment slipped by.
The benefactor will see you when the moon is at its highest, after the show is long over, in the darkest alley in the city, the wyvern told him hours before the show.
Donavan hurried away from the tents immediately after his act, which was kept brief for him to scour the city for the meeting place. The alley he stumbled upon used the buildings around it to block even the moonlight from shining through.
Even in this obscure cloud, Donavan could still see perfectly well. People had once told him he had the “eye of the tiger,” and that was proving true now.
“Ah, mortal. I believe you called me?” A deep, polite voice stepped into the alley with Donavan. The figure chilled the air, resonating a freezing aura down his spine.
“Yes, I did,” Donavan hesitated for a moment, his face contorting at the being.
“Well, out with it. I am afraid I have...other tasks that need to be taken care of.”
The shadow’s nonchalance annoyed Donavan. He struggled to keep a leveled exterior, “The deal was ten years. It’s only been nine.”
“And a fine nine years it has been, feeding on the souls of your precious circusgo—”
“Then why do you harass Sinestro?” Donavan growled, “His soul is not for the taking yet. None of ours are.”
“Be tame, animal tamer. I am merely keeping an eye on my investment. You humans do enjoy backing out of your vows.” It was hard to discern in the nighttime, but Donavan could see a grin surface from the darkness.
“You are controlling him!” Donavan roared, “I see how you skulk behind his every step! And if you violate our contract, I—!”
“You’ll what? What can you possibly do to me? Your power is a gift from me, and for every time I give, I must receive.”
“You will pay!” Donavan pulled his fist back, and launched it towards the demon, only to phase right through what he thought was the shadow’s face.
“Come now, animal tamer. You above all should know how to keep your anger in reserves.”
Donavan’s forehead began to simmer with pain. “Ah!” he screamed, holding his scar. He could feel blood pouring out of it, like the day he was given the scar.
“Like I said, I like to keep an eye on my investments. That scar of yours...consider it my...insurance policy.”
The demon’s voice echoed away, and Donavan was still grasping his scar. However, when he let go and looked at his palms, nothing was there. He was not bleeding; he was not hurt. And yet, Donavan felt like something was taken from him, like the demon took...a piece of him.
Nonetheless, Donavan wanted to see that demon burn.