Trojan Destiny

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Image courtesy of: http://kellyoshi.deviantart.com/art/Spear-of-Destiny-368344846

‘Ifrit, please, for crying out loud, in English! I’m tired of constantly having to contextualise your sentences’. I growled whilst continuing to examine the blade. This Ifrit sure was a chatter-box!
‘Is this what you wished for?’ Repeated the Ifrit, still currently wearing a skin.
‘It seems to be,’ I pondered, distracted in deep thought. ‘But I suppose there’s only one way to really authen…’ I trailed, pulling my glove off and tentatively placing my naked finger to the tip of it. My skin burned and spat, like hot metal when you piss on it. I smiled, this was the real thing, my finger burned like fuck – but still, I smiled, I had finally found it, kind of. And I knew that the Tyrant wanted it, more than wanted it, he fucking massacred entire villages searching for it…a plan was beginning to formulate.
‘It will destroy the blood of El, like us. Why would you choose to keep it close?’
The Ifrit was nervous, she backed away from me as I put my glove back on and dropped the blade into a white bone container – another wish granted. I loved cheating.
‘I keep it because my enemy wants it. I keep it because then there is one less thing out there that can kill me. I keep it because I mean to use it’.
‘The spear of Destiny should be destroyed, not kept as an object of fancy’. Objected the Ifrit, venomously. She was afraid, she had every right to be. This could kill her, would kill her, does kill her.
Smoke had begun to wisp off of her, her skin, it was fucking burning out. She would have to kill again, or, she would have to remain hidden. And hiding was not apart of my plan.
The Ifrit paced back and forth, snake like, naked feet slapping on the tiled floor.
‘You go and find a new skin. Come back by dawn.’ I muttered, and with a pop she was gone.
That just left me alone with the power of Destiny in my lap.
I sucked the raw wound on the tip of my finger and plotted my next move. With a pop the Ifrit had returned. It had only been two minutes. I smiled in approval as I looked over the new skin. The little boy, seven maybe eight years of age, smiled back. This would work perfectly. The Ifrit slunk away, all crab-like, into the darkest corner of the room. He was still watching me, smiling at me. I turned away. Why did I have to get lumbered with the fucking clingy djinn?
I continued to suckle, knowing that if I turned over, the freak would be watching me. The spear of Destiny never left my side that night.

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