He squatted to let it slither up his arm and under his skin. It was a tickly sensation, a bit like falling asleep at the dentist while an attractive assistant buffed his teeth. He could hear an echo to his thoughts as if he were speaking aloud in a cathedral. It was seductive, this whisper in the back of his mind. He could see why people allowed themselves to become possessed.
He rolled the sensations around in his mind, aware of the demon infiltrating every nerve ending. He could feel it invading his mind, washing up against the wall of his id and his ego like the north sea against a harbour wall.
Before him, Manoach steepled his fingers, waiting for the demon to wrest control of his conscious mind and become compliant to the ancient man's will. It would be comical if it wasn't so serious. Harold had no intention of allowing the demon in. Ancient it might be, but it was no match for the legacy of blood his father had left him.
Harold took a deep breath and hammered his will upon the legionnaire. It was like pouring salt onto a slug. The demon withered under the onslaught of his will and retreated from every fibre of his being. It oozed out of his pores and dropped onto the smooth marble tiles.
Harold looked up. “Told you.”