“You ARE a demon. Imposter. And you now have the Star of Igbon. You have played us all for fools! Fools!”

“What are you…?” Firetop was confused by what the elderly gentleman was saying, who was still at his feet, but cowering now.

“Run, my people run and flee from this demon while you still have the chance. It is too late for me, but you all go. Now!”

The gathered crowd started to disperse, screaming. The elderly chap just lay, covering his head.

“What is going on?” Firetop managed to ask, before noticing that his feet had become tangled in some roots. He looked down, and realised they weren’t roots, but the bony hands that had brought him here earlier. The elderly man had noticed the hands gathering around Firetop’s feet, and thought he was transforming into some kind of bony demon.

“I am not a demon,” Firetop tried to explain, but he was pulled beneath the ground at great speed before he could say anything else.

The elderly man saw his chance to flee after his people, although relieved he’d escaped. He was frustrated that he gave away the amulet so easily.

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