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((Triple Saturday -- Page 2 of 3))
Perhaps it was just time healing all wounds. Perhaps it was the slow realization that his family wasn’t completely gone since Feromas was still here. But whatever it was, he had begun to look forward to the future again--to seeing Parson and Germal again, especially.

And he was starting to think even beyond that, as well. Maybe one day, he would be able to start a new family. If he could live that long. If he could find a good woman. If he could find a nice place. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere he could raise children safely and quietly, away from all this blood and chaos and undead business.

He was still barely even a teenager, but he couldn’t imagine anything that he would have liked more than that.

He focused on his meditation for most of the day. Perhaps if he could develop his power more, he could break them out of here, but he wasn’t particularly hopeful. He still didn’t even understand what his ability was, really.

Feromas, Overra, and Nerovoy had of course explained all about servant powers, but even they had been at a loss for what Damian’s ability was, exactly. The only apparent thing was that he could use it to disintegrate things. At first, they’d all told him that it was the destruction type, but as time passed, it became clear that that was not the case.

Damian had met several destruction users since then. They created a path whenever they used their power, and there was a particular sound associated with it, too. But Damian’s ability didn’t work that way. He simply turned things to dust at will--often accidentally, back when he was first acclimating himself to it.

So, really, he didn’t know for sure if his ability couldn’t overcome these walls. He’d already tried and failed several times, but there was no telling what it would be able to do for him with more development.

Probably not much, though, he figured. It seemed to be an all-or-nothing kind of power.

Three meals of yellow-brown slop arrived, as usual, and he was hungry enough to choke down two of them but not the third.

He was preparing for another night of uncomfortable sleep in a flea-ridden, rat-eaten bedroll when he suddenly felt it.

An oppressive presence unlike any he had felt before.

‘It’s him,’ said Feromas. ‘He’s here.’

Damian could hear the other prisoners stirring in their cells and guards whispering to one another. There soon came a commotion of keys jangling and metal doors creaking and clanking--and finally, footsteps. Drawing steadily nearer.

Damian only sat and waited with attentive eyes.

When a group of men appeared on the other side of the bars, Damian didn’t have much trouble discerning which among them was the Mad Demon of Abolish. The others were all familiar-looking guards, of course, but even if they weren’t, it probably still would have been obvious from just the eyes and smile.