Black wednesday

Circe hurried as quick as she could, but they were already gaining on her.

Market-night had come to Stygia, and she'd headed into town with her rusty wheelbarrow, filled to the brim with shiny rocks and small trinkets she'd cleaned and polished. Long before she'd had finery and indulgences, Circe was thin and dirty, wearing a potato sack for a dress. She'd dyed it black with silt from a river, but it looked ugly still. She wasn't wearing shoes, and the rocky road here from the ash plains hadn't been fun. Once she'd secured passage through the gates, she'd headed to the causeways, resigned. The Devils with more money had greater precedent, but she was stuck with the other junk-sellers on the fringes.

Setting herself between a wagon selling cooked rats and a stand of wolf T-shirts, Circe set her wares up and went to work, keeping money and change in a little iron lockbox. Wheeling and dealing was a part of the market, and she did well for herself, especially without buying food for the night. Only realizing she was being stared at and sized up had made her finally pack up, quickly leaving before anyone else had even started their teardown.

It wasn't until she'd made it to the edge of the mountains did she turn and spot the demons following her with a hellhound on a chain. The piece of wood with nails driven in it she kept for protection seemed too small in her mind as she'd frantically hurried on.

It hadn't mattered. They'd caught her along a bend in the path, jumping down and landing, braying laughter and fire. When she told the story later on, Circe would always leave out how she'd screamed in fear. There were four, and they were much bigger than her, red skin under chainmail. The Hellhound barked and slavered molten spittle, barring it's teeth. They'd kept laughing with an echo as they threw her out of the way and ripped into her wheelbarrow, tossing her treasures aside.

The roar had sounded like a T-Rex or a Dragon, something stretching it's lungs and letting everything for miles know it was discontent. The demons had eyed the walls of lead around them before one had shoved her lockbox at her and demanded she open it. She would've- at that point Circe had only wanted to escape with her life-

The boulder came out of nowhere, the stone impacting and shaking the earth as two demons were pulverized underneath it. Circe wriggled to her hands and knees, watching something land from it's plummet and slowly straighten all the way out. Her impression was of height and power, and she put her hands over her head to hide under her tangled hair.

"...You woke me up. Go away." Said the monster in a low, low voice. She never saw what Nyx had done to either one; only that when she finally looked up after all the sounds had died, one was dead and broken in a small crater, while the other was so much gristle spread out in an arc. The other Devil stomped hard enough to shake the ground and waved her arms as the Hellhound barked and ran, chain leash trailing. She didn't know why she felt so tired and drained...

The last thing she saw before it passed a metal claw over her face and she slept was tall, tall horns and an unhappy little frown.

When Circe awoke, she scrambled up and flinched, looking around; she was at her shack in the plains, her cart next to her. Her eyes widened before she checked, but everything she hadn't sold was back inside, along with her money. She frowned and looked around again, but the only clues were tracks in the grey; hers from leaving, and a long tread that ended at her and went back along itself toward the foothills. The other must've carried her and her cart...

Circe scratched her head and shivered, staring back up at the red-capped peaks again before she took her cart inside and locked the door.