"We've reached an agreement." The high priest at the head of the table spoke with his hands folded in front of him, resting upon his massive desk at the alter of the temple. Two priests dressed in traditional robes standing on the other side of the table eyed the weathered old man in front of them, their eyes narrow.

"We aren't supposed to negotiate with them," the robed man on the high priest's left said, the inflection in his voice hinting at the questioning to come. "They've taken the lives of thousands. Decimated our cities. How, pray tell, could you have struck a deal with the Demons? Who gave you the right?"

"Ahhh... my child. Must we have let the war continue? No, no, we don't have strength." The old man shook his head as he talked.

"What kind of deal does one make with a Demon?" the other robed priest spoke up, his voice harsh in tone and cynical.

"The killing of our people will stop, that is what's important," the man wisped to the two men staring at him darkly.

They shifted in place uncomfortably. The high priest was hiding something from them. "We will have the details now, high priest," the man on the right demanded.

"Very well, very well. A sacrifice, once a week. The killing of a calf in the name of the Demons' high king Sandara. The killings will stop, the war will end. It is a sensible offer." The grey high priest's eyes strayed from side to side, scanning the two men in front of him as to gauge their reactions. He wondered if they'd see through him.

"A sacrifice, to the high king of Demons?!" The rightmost priest slammed his fists on the desk. "This is an outrage. The people will not agree! They will not bow to the Demons!" The man was practically red. A vein stood out among his forehead and his eyes bulged as his gaze burned a hole straight through the aged high priest.

The elder stayed calm. "They will, my son, they will. When they want the killing to stop, they will. The threat is too large, and our citizens run scant. Our cities are scarred from the killings. It must come to an end."

The robed priest on the right continued his tirade. "The people... they aren't gonna like this. We will be shunned, excommunicated. They will look at us as traitors, as conspirators with devils."

"Ah yes, the people, the priesthood. It will hurt, won't it? Not as bad as it hurts me. Your wounds are superficial, they will heal with time."

The leftmost man bit his lip, his eyes opening wide as if in a sudden realization. A realization that still had not arrived to the man on the right. He spoke. "What do you mean by that, high priest?" His words were whispered out in a low, leery tone to match the suspicious look on his face.

"A soul, child. The deal also requires a soul."