Life, as they say, is gorgeous. It is beautiful. Eugene Forstus leaned back in his expensive leather chair, kicked his expensive leather shoes up onto his expensive mahogany desk. The office around him was lushly decorated and furnished, just the way he'd always wanted it. He cast his dull grey eyes around the room with an appraising sneer.<br/><br/>Now, if only he had something to do. Where was she? She'd been gone for nearly two days and he was growing bored. This office was merely a sham. He had no work to actually be doing. She was doing it for him, of course, as a slave should. Ah, well... might as well poke around and pick his next victim.<br/><br/>For weeks he'd been at it. He'd pick his next target carefully. It was always someone who controlled a major company he needed for his plan. When he'd selected the person he wanted, he would summon his slave and give her precise, detailed commands. He left her with no room to maneuver out of his commands, as she'd been doing so lately. He specified every detail of the job in his instructions to her. It had been long since he'd seen the look of hatred and defiance in her eyes and he somehow missed it. Lately, she only looked at him as if she was not seeing him-- the same way she looked at everything. He would never admit it, but he almost missed the way she'd been before he'd broken her mind. She was almost boring this way.<br/><br/>He was surfing through the files of a particular company he wanted to control next when she finally returned to him. She pushed open the door with a heavy thump, causing him to jump and gasp with fright. He turned to glare at her, ready to yell at her, when he saw who it was that had come in. Sure, it was her as he'd expected, but she wasn't alone-- and she wasn't walking under her own power. She was bound at wrist and ankle, and her ankles hand been drawn up and behind her, then tied to her wrists, hog-tie fashion. She was bleeding from several deep wounds. Her head was flopping limply on her shoulders at such an extreme angle that her neck had obviously been broken. For a second, he thought she was dead, then remember that demons needed much more than this in order to be killed. She would be unable to act until it healed, though. His eyes raised to the man carrying her.<br/><br/>He was large, heavily muscled, and clad in leather straps that reminded him of a gladiator from the movies. He dropped her carelessly on the floor where she lay still and silent.<br/><br/>"My master wishes me to inform you to put careful thought into your next effort to seize so much as bathroom tissue from him. He requires no replay, so I shall see myself out."<br/><br/>With that, he turned around and left. The warlock could see the air shimmering around him oddly. Warlocks almost always wore a lotion-like paste under their eyes to allow them to pierce illusions. The strange shimmering of the air told him that the man was heavily illusioned. It explained how he had been able to enter the building, ride the elevator to the top floor, and burst into his office without anyone wondering why he was carrying a dead girl. They likely saw something else entirely.<br/><br/>"What have you done now, idiot girl?" he spat at the dead body of his slave, "You'd better get healing fast. I can't drag you around like he did. You'll be noticed there."<br/><br/>She, of course, gave no reply.