Saundonel dusted the sand off of his boots. This would be the last time they would ever be used. Today, Saundonel, the oldest and wisest of his kin, would die. Not by the hand of an enemy, or by the justice of his fellows. Nor by the effects of some vile humor or the old age that had made his bones but pieces of driftwood and his thoughts scattered among the fine grains of sand. No, Saundonel has decided to kill himself off, for the sake of his fellows. His kin no longer needed him, he thought. The times no longer called for bearded magicians who where haunted by phantoms of their own creation. These good times called for rosy-cheeked, headstrong little warriors who did not think enough to second-guess themselves. If the blue creature demands an offering, it might as well be the least useful of the bunch. This is what they want. The demon demands a sacrifice. One step. Two. Three. The Blue Demon wrapped around his feet and then retreated, only to come back again with more vengeance. Five. Six. Seven. It only got easier to give in with each step. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. There's no use in counting anymore. Just let him consume you, let him pull you down into the depths of his stomach. The demon demands a sacrifice. Have him digest you and suck every last bone, every last muscle and blood cell. Every last thought will belong to his digestion. Every last thought? Every last thought. Last thought ever. Last thought ever. Last thought ever! Last. Thought. Ever. What? Who has pulled Saundonel out of his grip?