Hunted
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After Eli died I was the last one left. The demon kills quickly enough that I don't think there was much pain, and I am glad at least he did not have to endure the isolation I have suffered. After his death it was my turn to be hunted, my turn to be followed by the constant stink of blood and shit and feel it pool beneath my feet any time I stayed too long in one place. I am the last of the Children of the Maharal and I alone now live to remember our kind.

We were once a great people before the demon chose us as its prey and we had to retreat to the wilderness. Before my time we lived in cities instead of being forced to wander tundra, rainforests and deserts. Anywhere we could be far from society and free of the demon's gaze. All I have known is a harsh life of constant travelling where our only comfort came from each other and the stories we told of our past. Stories from a time when we were heroes and legends instead of a people on the run from a monster that cannot be fought, only evaded. In the end all our efforts to hide were not enough. Time and again we were found and one by one we died until only the youngest of us remained.

I spent a long time alone after Eli died. The journey seemed harder as did the fear but the worst was the loneliness. My world shrunk until all that remained was the demon, the running and my memories of the dead. I don't know how long it took but in time I grew weak and foolish. Our kind are not meant to be alone and so I travelled to the edge of a town, just close enough to remind myself that civilisation still existed, that people still existed.

It was there I was discovered. Ordinary people with no understanding of the danger they posed and yet the demon watched from behind their eyes nonetheless. I froze instantly just as I had been taught, for the demon's eyes see only movement. I waited there until they noticed the demon's filth that pooled beneath me. Two turned away in disgust leaving only one to watch me. At the very instant she blinked I moved. Three sharp twists, each as I had been taught, the neck snapped, to turn away the demon's gaze and to minimise pain. It was cruel but necessary, just one glance of me in motion and the demon I feared would tear its way out of their skulls and into this reality. As their bodies fell to the ground I fled, retreating to the wilderness I should never have left.

All my speed was not enough, the demon's mark left a trail of filth behind me that my captors could easily follow. In no time at all I was cornered and trapped in the prison of their gaze. To move would mean my death and to look away would mean theirs. As much as I may regret it, no number of human lives is worth more than the history I bear.

Now I am trapped here, in a dark and tiny cage deep below the ground with the stink of blood and shit growing ever stronger. I pace my cell and I pound the unyielding walls, I have tried every means of escape and the best it has gained me is a little time as they move me from one cell to another. The demon's filth appears constantly now and my time is growing short. It will not be long before the demon grows strong enough to manifest and then all that will be remembered of me is a simple brute, a killer without purpose or meaning. I cannot allow that to happen. No matter how many lives it costs, no matter how hard I have to fight. I am the last of the golems and I must escape.

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