"You stinking brat! I told you before! Never touch my food!" Roared a man, his face flushed red from alcohol.

"But m..mr Harold sir... my m..master commanded it." Stuttered the child, bearly able to speak due to fear.

"You filthy demon! Your entire misbegotten race should be wiped from the world. You're nothing but a pestilence, a disease. It's a good thing that the world has men like me."

One of Harold's group stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Harold, don't you think you're going a little far? We do this nearly every day, and nothing changes."

"Not far enough." Releasing a lightning kick, Harold booted the child into the wall where it let out a weak sob. "Please... forgive... me."

Mors initially cared little for the child or the fact that he was a slave. The moment he had seen that the boy was a demon, he was only excited about possibly learning something about his race.

That was until the man called Harold, insulted demons as a whole, indirectly provoking Mors.

Mors' irritation was further increased when the boy began begging for forgiveness for the apparent crime of being born a demon.

Slowly standing up Mors released the control he had over his aura causing everyone's neck immediately snap towards him in surprise.

Harold revealed a cocky smile. "Ha just because you're a peak Marquess, it doesn't give you the right to interfere with my friends and me. Mind your own business while I teach this demon scum a lesson."

As if he had not heard a single word Harold spoke, Mors slowly walked around the tables, each of his footsteps and the tapping Morrigan's staff echoed on the wooden floor causing the heated atmosphere to instantly chill.

"Harold's party are all low-level Marquess, is he really going to fight them where there is only a few stars difference?" Whispered a fat man, a tankard still frozen halfway to his face.

A curvy woman in a low cut dress moved closer to him without looking away from the spectacle before her. "Becoming a pinnacle Marquess is something that most can only dream of... If he is about to fight that means he is sure of victory. A fool would never be able to make it that far."

After what seemed like hours to those watching, but in reality had only been around 30 seconds or so, Mors finally stopped between Harold and the child. "Apologise for what you have said and leave this place... for if you don't... well, let's just stay things will get extremely ugly."

Runt returned her head to the wooden floor and continued her nap assuming this would be like the earlier incident. -"I hope he is given meat this time, that thing he covered himself earlier in reeks of sourness."

"HAHAHAHAAH... are you some kind of idiot, you're only what, 3/4 stars above the eight of us, and you want to pick a fight. For what? a child you have barely met."

Although no one could see Mors' face, they could hear his teeth noisily grinding under his hood. Realising a fight was moments from breaking out, most of the spectators stood, pulling their tables away and secured their drinks.

"I... Did Not Say To... Apologies to the child did I?" Mors was having difficulty keeping his temper. -"Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts... you know like killing everyone in this room. NO! That's not helping! I am too injured to be doing this. I need to calm down. Maybe if he surrenders and tears out his own voicebox, I can let his insults slide. Only this once though, and only because I am injured."

"WHAT? are you a stinking demon sympathiser... how rare. Maybe you're just a masochist that dreams of being whipped by a succubus... You make me sick." Harold spat a significant amount of phlegm directly onto Mors' new cloak.

Mors tightened his grip on Morrigan as he raised his left arm up to his hood and slowly pulled it down. First revealing his enraged, reptilian eyes before his sleek black horns that arched backwards finally came into view.

The entire room became dumbstruck as the scene in front of them.

Before them stood the pride of the town, Harold, a self-proclaimed demon slaying expert who always told others about the rules to hunting demons, especially not insulting them directly yet he just had, to a mysterious high-level demon at that.

The young child's eyes sparkled in hope. "Y..You're a demon too?"

"I really... really... REEALLLY wish you didn't do that." Hissed Mors, ignoring the question. "Now I have to waste precious energy killing you and everyone else in this shit hole."

"Wai..." Harold was just about to draw the sword at his waist, knowing that bargaining with an enraged demon was like trying to pacify a crying child with mathematics. It wasn't going to happen, but he hoped it would stall for enough time.

Surprised and slowed by the amount of drink he had consumed, Harold's sword wasn't even able to clear its scabbard before his body was split diagonally, sending copious amounts of blood spurting into the air.

The room stood in mute silence before exploding into panicked screams as adventurers clamoured for their weapons and civilians attempted to flee.

The innkeeper who seated Mors was closest to the door, however just as he was about to charge through, he was slammed to the floor and had his throat mercilessly ripped out.

Looking up in disbelief as his life flowed out of his neck, he saw a white wolf, its front covered in a red liquid leap away from his body and tackle another person to the floor, mercilessly biting into their throat. Falling into darkness he only had one question. -"What... happened?..."

Mors was tired, injured and his patience was at its end. Without Claire encumbering his movements, even though he only had 12% of his former strength, he had turned into a whirlwind of death, sending blood and shattered bones high into the air as if a tropical storm from the centre of hell has passed over.

"Wait... I can pay! I have gold!"

*THUD*

Morrigan now resembled a scythe as its spear tip punched through the pleading man's chest, causing his eyes to bulge. Even before his eyes lost focus Morrigan was gone, slicing its way through the crowd as it vibrated as if happily enjoying the slaughter.

Soon the only sound in the inn was Mors' heavy breathing. -"Looks like I have opened up all of the wounds. I need to get out of here before more trouble shows up."

Looking towards the door, he noticed Runt was sitting upon a pile of bodies, her white fur now stained in blood as she happily wagged her tail. She had stopped anyone attempting to escape, and Mors couldn't help but smile at his, now semi-competent, companion. "Finally, someone I can rely on."

"Eat up we are leaving soon." Mors' fist smashed into the chest of a body laying on the nearby bar, pulling out the heart, this time making sure to remove the mana core before devouring it in one bite. -"For some reason, I really do enjoy hearts... must be this new body of mine or maybe that fact it's the most compact source of energy. I can't imagine carrying a leg or arm around with me as I eat... It would take up too much space."

Getting the hint, Runt buried her head into the pile of corpses, inhaling a frightening amount of meat, barely pausing long enough to chew.

Mors stumbled over to the demon, cowering against the wall. "PLEASE DON'T EAT ME... I'M SORRY!"

"How pathetic can you get?" Winced Mors in pain as he reached down and picked up the child. "Urg you pissed yourself... are you sure you're a demon?" Mors looked closely at the child's delicate features and horns.

Flinging the child over his shoulder Mors removed another heart, this time savouring the taste. "You better have some good information; I was looking forward to sleeping in a nice, warm bed."