Even thirteen years later, that night where darkness won still plagued Riarshi's dreams. 

Laying on his back, with his fingers interlocked behind his head, he stared at his bedroom ceiling with wet, shimmering eyes. A cold sweat dripped from his brow and soaked his covers.

For a long time, he stayed there, motionless. The only sound in the bedroom came from his own slow, steady breathing and the chirping of birds outside the window.

Eventually, he slowly rolled out of bed. His recently trained muscles ached, begging for more sleep. 

He couldn't go back. He refused to return to that dream.

Riarshi stood, bare feet plopping onto the shaggy, ripped carpet. He ignored the cold numbing his toes, the many holes and cracks in the bare drywall, the dark orange buildup of copper in the sink, and the dying cries of a failing refrigerator in the kitchen. These sights and smells were considered normal for an apartment provided by government assistance. 

As an eighteen-year-old orphan, living the last thirteen years in such an abysmal state, Riarshi Thomas had become numb.

***

It was a beautiful late summer afternoon in the suburban town of Westray, a welcomed change from the previous week of constant rain and chilling winds. 

The roads were clear of cars, allowing the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves free to reach Riarshi's ears as he strolled down the sidewalk. The dying summer's air was undoubtedly refreshing compared to the stuffiness of his old and beaten apartment. For a few moments, he had forgotten about his bone chilling dream.

A satisfying breeze blew by now and then, carrying the woody scent of smoke from the grills of afternoon barbecues. Each house Riarshi passed was nearly identical: small, quaint, and pleasant. White wooden fences separated properties from the road, the paint fading and chipping from age and sunlight.

Riarshi stopped when his gaze landed upon a house to his right. A family of four gathered on their front lawn, huddled around a wooden picnic table underneath an open canopy. 

With one swoop of her hand, the mother of the family levitated bowls and utensils onto the tabletop from her front door. The father stood off to the side and hydrated the lawn with sprinkles of water spraying from his fingertips, showering the plush green grass he worked very hard on to maintain.

As his feet carried him away, Riarshi imagined himself sitting at that table, laughing along with the rest of them, without a single negative thought flowing through his sluggish mind or a wicked dream haunting his memory. His chest tightened, and a ball formed in his throat. After a brief attempt at swallowing the ball down, a fresh breeze blew by his face and snapped him out of his trance. He was eighteen now - a full grown adult. It was childish to be jealous of two little children enjoying time with their parents.

With one last longing look at the content family, all sitting and laughing together merrily, Riarshi let his troubled mind wander for the rest of his trip, hoping the tension in his chest would fade into the distance along with the houses.

After ten minutes of mindlessly absorbing the early afternoon's sights and sun, Riarshi arrived at his destination - the Westray Center Marketplace: a large town center where many of Westray's residents sold and shopped for a variety of goods.

Checking both ways to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, he allowed tiny sparks to form beneath his feet and darted across the two-lane highway in a split second.

People flooded the wide, bustling marketplace that afternoon. Dozens of vendors, shops, and stalls lined the aisles that stretched along the lot, each separated by a rolling river of heavy foot traffic.

Small children littered a grassy field that sat in the back of the market, shooting narrow beams at each other from their fingertips. Entertainers cast spells over empty hats to make rabbits appear, and several vendors flickered small fires from their hands to cook an assortment of exotic meats. This was the magic of the Westray Marketplace on a Saturday afternoon.

Pacing through the many aisles of the marketplace, bag in hand, Riarshi spotted one booth he had gone to in the past for meats. A small, elderly lady who tied her gray hair in a messy bun owned the stand, having taken over just a few years prior after her long time husband passed.

Riarshi greeted her with a friendly smile. She had just wiped off the counter with a damp rag when she picked her head up and smiled back at him. Her sky-blue eyes sparkled in the beaming sunlight, filled with the same kindness as they did each day he visited her stall.

He ordered his usual cuts of chicken and beef. Bending at the waist, she grabbed two slabs of meat from the freezer below and held each chunk of protein firmly in her small, wrinkled hands. A light-blue glow spread from her hands to the meat, then dispersed into the air.

He watched her sway side to side as she calculated the price in her head. Her tongue stuck out slightly from between thinned lips.

"This is the second time I've seen you here this week, young man," she said, wrapping the meat in wax paper. "Did your parents send you again?"

Riarshi paused for a moment before he could answer. With a face of stone, he tried his best to prevent her from seeing that this question made him feel uncomfortable.

"No, they didn't," he said flatly.

The lady smirked; curiosity stitched over her wrinkled face. "Hmm? Maybe fixing up ingredients for a special date? You know food is the easiest way to a woman's heart," she said mischeviously.

Riarshi's stone face shattered, and he chuckled at the sudden, direct, and certainly unexpected question. "No, no... not planning that," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "No one in my life like that."

"Oh? Well, don't worry, young man," she replied with a hopeful voice. She smiled. "I'm sure you'll do very well someday."

Riarshi smiled back, turned, and started to walk away. He suddenly stopped. There had been something on his mind since this morning. 

"Ma'am, can I ask you a question?"

"Hmm?" She looked up from her cutting board. "Of course. Go right ahead."

"Have you ever wanted to be a Hero?"

The old lady didn't answer for a moment. She only looked at Riarshi thoughtfully, studying him with her eyes.

"I guess that depends on what your definition of a hero may be, young man. If you are meaning a Magic Hero, then no." Her tiny, wrinkled hands took on the blue glow from before. Her sky-blue eyes twinkled magically behind her glasses. "My magic only allows me to weigh objects up to ten pounds. Used to be much more back when I was a young woman dancing the night away with boys like you."

Her lips quirked into a bitter smile, but it faded as fast as it came. "I'm no strong magic user, hun. Never have been, never will. And you'll certainly never see me fighting crime and demons. You know how this world works. Those with weak, ineffective magic are stuck in the run down, rural parts of the country. We're forced to live day by day, paycheck to paycheck, while the strongest in the country populate the cities and hoard the riches."

The blue glow faded from her hands. Sadness washed over her eyes. "We may not have been destined to become Magic Heroes, young man. However, one doesn't need magic to become someone's hero. In my experience, the magic of love, trust, and sacrifice are far more powerful than anything I've seen from a high nose, high magic user. That is why my husband was my hero. And someday, you will become someone's hero, too. Whether that be as a Magic Hero, or simply the handsome young man that visits me each week." She smiled brightly, and gave him a quick wink.

Riarshi felt a cold smile tug at the corners of his lips. Remembering that dreadful night had brought a wave of hopelessness over him earlier that morning. These words, however, helped drag him to the surface. It was what he needed to hear. 

"I understand. Thank you-"

Riarshi was abruptly cut off. A hand suddenly shoved him hard on the shoulder, pushing him off his feet and onto his rear. His hands scraped on the hot asphalt.

"You've been standing there long enough, you damn commoner," snapped an angry, spiteful voice.

Riarshi picked himself off the ground, wincing from the sharp pain in his back and hands. A short, slender man stood in front of the old lady's stall. His eyes were black like obsidian, and his hair a faint straw yellow.

He wore a navy-blue three piece suit; the pants hemmed perfectly down the front of the legs. Although the suit was made of a beautiful material that glowed slightly from the overhead sun, the man's face was twisted into a disgusted grimace. 

Judging by the expensive suit and the palpable aura of magic in the air, even Riarshi could tell this man was from the nearby city.

He was a high magic user.

"Excuse me, sir," the old lady hissed, the original pleasantness in her voice now thrown out the window. "He has every right to speak to me at my own stall."

Dozens of other nearby shoppers stopped what they were doing and watched the commotion from a distance. No one jumped in to stop or defuse it. This was to be expected, though. No one from the suburbs ever wanted to confront a high magic user.

"Shut your mouth and give me my order," the man barked. "Also you, you old hag, have zero right to speak down to me or any other high magic user. We run the country. We make sure that the economy booms. And if it weren't for Heroes, the demons that still walk among us would have burned this scum-filled town down to a wasteland of ash. You wouldn't even have a stall to waste your pathetic magic at. I'll repeat, give me my order, now. I've been waiting forever while you and this runt have shot the shit. I have zero time to deal with low magics like you. I have important business to attend to and I can't afford to return to the office late from my lunch break."

The tension in Riarshi's chest rose rapidly as his heart pounded in his ears. He stared white-hot daggers at the straw-haired man. The man didn't seem to notice.

Riarshi opened his mouth to say something, but the old lady calmly raised a hand to silence him. Her warm blue eyes froze over, boring like drills into the man at her stall.

"It's all right, young man. Say nothing. I'll get him his blasted order." She quickly wrapped an order of meat and shoved the bag into the man's chest. "But I will not give him the satisfaction of using his magic on you to boost his own struggling self-esteem."

Swearing under his breath, the man snatched the bag from the old lady's hand, glared at Riarshi one last time, then stormed off.

"I can't believe the world has come to this," the old lady sighed once the man was gone, pinching the skin between her brows. She looked weaker and older than just a few minutes ago. "Where I'm unsure of who has the greater darkness within. Humans or demons."

***

As the sounds of the energetic marketplace died in the distance, Riarshi turned down a skinny alleyway running between two tall apartment complexes, hoping to return home as quickly as possible by taking his normal short cut. 

He had become accustomed to the harassment and discrimination he received for his weaker magic. But after reliving the final memory of his parents in his recent dream, and witnessing the caring old lady lose her temper for the first time, even the beautiful weather failed to improve his mood.

The long, dark alleyway stunk like rotten musk and mold. Drips of water - or whatever it could have been - splashed on the ground from a leaking gutter. Rats, rubbing their tiny paws together, ducked and scurried between trash cans.

About halfway through the long alley, Riarshi spotted the silhouette of two figures, one large and one small. He stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't expect anyone to be in here. No one was ever in here. 

Riarshi took a deep, soundless breath. He tried to stay low and alert. Inching closer with small, discrete steps, their faces eventually became visible despite the ominous shadows cloaking their figures.

Scurrying like a rat, Riarshi hid behind a taller trash can overflowing with rubbish. His foot crunched a plastic bottle, but thankfully neither or the figures heard. He ducked low and listened.

A tall, scruffy faced man dressed in a dark green sweatshirt stood over a small, orange-haired girl probably no older than ten.

"Hey, kid..." The man whispered to the girl. His sharp white teeth glowed in the upward skylight with each drawn-out word. "You know it's dangerous to travel an alley like this alone. Where'ya parents, eh? They toss you away like trash?"

Rivers of tears trickled down the girl's face as her entire body shivered. Her voice trembled with cold fear as she pleaded with the man.

"Please, let me go, I'm just trying to find my Dad..." the girl sobbed. "I got lost... please... I don't have any money." The girl could hardly speak with how badly she was racked with sobs.

Riarshi grit his teeth. He was already in a poor mood, so he would be risking it if he intervened. But he couldn't sit idly by and let this man hurt this girl.

He had to help. She was all alone.

Without thinking of the consequences, his feet carried him further into the dark alleyway. He passed the line of no return. 

"Hey, leave her alone," he commanded. Despite his confident stance and expression, his grocery bag was gripped so tight that his knuckles blanched.

The scruff faced man slowly turned towards the unexpected visitor and displayed rows of sharp, razor-like teeth with a wide and sinister smile.

"Oh, what's this? Some punk trying to play hero?"

The man sniffed the air. Apart from the bright blue sky over the rooftops, Riarshi's angry amber eyes were the only source of light in this dark alley.

A razor sharp smile crept through the shadow under the hood. "Hmm, that's some weak magic you got there, kid."

Riarshi maintained his stance, unfazed by the man's deep and threatening voice. He had been in fights before. This was no different. The man was a back alley thug in a rural town - he couldn't have been too much stronger. 

But when the man locked eyes with Riarshi and threw back his hood, the teen's eyes sprung open.

Two blood-red eyes with a vertical line slicing through the center gleamed through the alley.

Hidden among the depths of society, there were beings who feasted on fear... worshiped despair. Pain was their sustenance, and anger was their fuel.

Riarshi instinctively took a step back, dropping his groceries. The meat he purchased spilled open. Blood leaked onto the cold concrete ground in a shapeless, spreading puddle.

Riarshi knew these beings all too well. Thirteen years ago, hundreds stormed his house and showered his life in a never-ending cloud of darkness.

This was a being with negative magic...

This man was a Demon.