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Davari waits until he has the Shaman alone in his throne room before asking the important question.
"So how did the monk get into the Breaking Grounds?" He drawls, seated on his throne and skinning an apple. Most people, demon or human, start sweating when he does this, but the Shaman doesn't seem to notice. It's one of the things Davari likes about him.
"It's not clear," he says. "Raxion must not have set the defences properly."
"Poor, stupid Raxion," Davari agrees. "Pity he's not here to confirm one way or another."
The Shaman's lip curls slightly. "It is the only explanation. My defences are impeccable."
"Or." Davari points the knife at him, blade glistening slightly. "You're overlooking the obvious."
"I don't follow."
No, he doesn't, Davari thinks pityingly. It's one of the reasons the Shaman will never truly be Davari’s equal, even though he has come the closest so far. People are so consistently disappointing, whether they be demons, gods or humans.
"Your defences keep out humans," Davari spells it out for him. "And entraps gods."
"Yes?"
"What is the third thing, the one thing they are specifically keyed to recognise and welcome?"
The Shaman blinks slowly as the implications dawn on him. "Impossible," he breathes. "The gods would not tolerate her in their midst. They'd have killed her long ago."
"True," Davari says. He pops a piece of apple skin in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "It's an interesting thought experiment, though. How did she get into the Breaking Grounds. Did Raxion forget to set the defences or did they let her in? Is the cat alive or dead?"
The Shaman frowns. "I'm sorry, my lord. What cat do you speak of?"
"Forget the cat. Have you noticed that she has also been very lucky? Lucky to survive the Font Demon, lucky to encounter sympathetic gods. Even I find myself oddly... reluctant to push her to breaking.” Davari indifferently watches his blade peel green skin back from soft white flesh. “I find myself wanting to toy with her, never quite finishing the kill. Always backing off before I go just that step too far."
"Now that you say so,” the Shaman says. “I see it too.”
"Of course you do. I see all. Nothing is hidden from me. Nothing is unseen.” The knife slips and cuts into the skin of Davari’s thumb. He hisses as blood wells. “Tell me, Shaman. What is more powerful; luck or omniscience?"
"Omniscience," the Shaman says immediately. A predictable answer; Davari knew what he was going to say before the question was ever spoken.
"And do you know the one thing omniscience can't see? Luck. The flip of the coin, the unforeseeable momentary glitch in the universe that sends all plans astray." Davari carves off a slice of apple, tinged pink with his blood. He eats it slowly. "It introduces a very novel sensation of uncertainty."
The Shaman is watching him with unusual concern in those strange blank eyes. "You should kill her. If she is what you say - "
"And kill my translator? No, for now, I can’t harm a hair on her lovely head."
Davari has already exhausted himself trying to find a way around removing her as a threat without losing her knowledge. It is frustrating... and intriguing, in a world that has long since turned dull and grey. He wonders if this is what people mean when they speak of respect for an opponent; a sense of admiration even in defeat.
"Then you will kill her once she has finished translating?" The Shaman says insistently and Davari lifts his head, narrowing his eyes.
"That sounded like an order."
The Shaman, far from stupid, immediately offers contrition. "Forgive me, my lord. I only worry for you and the future of our kind."
"Of course you do. Get out."
The Shaman bows and departs.
Davari looks at his half-eaten apple, tinged with blood, and flings it across the room. It breaks a mirror, which annoys him more. Good, bad; it all comes back to luck.
Perhaps the Shaman is right and he should kill the monk. He has no use for a potential rival. Of course if he can break her… Will her power let her be broken, if it’s the difference between that and death? Only one way to find out, and with her luck and his foreknowledge, he’d be unstoppable. No one could touch him.
That all supposes, of course, that he is right and Raxion did set the defences as he was supposed to. There is the chance that this is all coincidence and she is nothing more than a boring old human.
Davari smiles as the answer occurs to him. Of course. It’s so simple. He'll kill the monk once the scrolls are translated, when the Monkey King comes to rescue her. If her luck saves her, Davari will know he was right and have the delight of exposing the truth to the Monkey. If she dies, he'll have the pleasure of seeing the despair in Monkey's eyes before he kills him too. Either way he wins.
Davari plucks a fresh apple from the bowl and hums cheerfully as he starts skinning it. He has a good feeling about tonight. Let luck decide where the monk’s fate falls.