The darkest passion [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEThey don't seem to care that they're dying.Aeron, an immortal warrior possessed by the demon of Wrath, was perched atop the roof of the Bűbájos Apartments in central Budapest, peering down at the humans so blithely going about their evening. Some were shopping, some talking and laughing, and some snacking while they walked. But none of them were dropping to their knees and begging the gods for more time in those feeble bodies. Nor were they sobbing because they wouldn't get it.He shifted his focus from the people to their sur-roundings. Muted moonlight spilled from the sky, blending with the amber glow of the street lamps and casting shadows on the paved pathways. Buildings stretched on every side, some of the higher points wrapped in light green awnings, the perfect contrast to the emerald trees rising from their bases.Pretty, as far as coffins went.Humans knew they were fading. Heil, they grew up knowing they'd have to abandon everything and everyone they loved, and yet, as he'd already observed, they didn't demand or even request more time. And that .fascinated him. Were Aeron to learn he'd soon be separated from his friends, the other demon-possessed warriors he'd spent the last few thousand years protecting, he would have done anythingyes, even begto change his fate.