I cringe as the terrifying noises seem to bounce off every headstone and crypt.
“Get the Scythed One for the Ophidian! Kill the rest!” My head whips up at the shouted order, and I see that the voice came from a demon perched on the roof of the mausoleum, skulking like a gargoyle.
“Stay in formation,” Iceman orders, and that’s all any of us have time to say, because in the next instant, all two hundred of the demons rush at us.
Flames erupt from Jerif’s hands like a volcanic eruption, and Echo’s shadows that were once shrouding us from view form into angry tentacles, ready to snatch the attackers in their tendrils and snap some necks. Crux, Iceman, and Echo grip their icy blades, and I’m in the middle of them all, clutching my scythe like my life depends on it, because it absolutely does.
I don’t even know at what point my terror activated my scythe’s blades to come out, but I stroke the smooth wood, thankful for the wicked, gleaming, demon-ashing weapon. I pray to whatever the fuck I am and the blood flowing through my veins that this will be enough to see us through this. That I won’t fail my guys like I did last time.
I don’t understand why this is happening, but we’ll have to figure it out when this is all over. It’s like these demons tracked me here to this portal, and that thought fills me with dread.
We’re surrounded in seconds.
The guys try to tighten their formation around me, because I know without a doubt, that their unspoken agreement is to not let these fuckers take me. It’s my own unspoken agreement too, just like I’m determined not to let anything happen to them.
I feel more than see the first wave of demons hit. It’s like a tsunami of black slamming into us, and all four of the guys stagger into me at the same time. But it seems my guys were waiting for that. Like they’ve somehow planned this, Crux makes a fist beside his head, and the circle of demons closest to us burst into blood and sinew as their bodies turn inside out. Before the corpses even finish falling, Jerif makes flames engulf each body, protecting us in a ring of fire.
Iceman lifts a hand in the air, and right outside of the flames, he starts raining down viciously sharp ice. The frosted needles hit the demons’ bodies with a sickening noise, slicing through bone and muscle, puncturing organs and taking them down with agonized shrieks and gurgled grunts.
When something dark catches my eye above me, I look up and realize that some of the demons can fly. They have dragonfly wings that look like they’re edged in small pointy metal shards with teeth to match, but Iceman is somehow two steps ahead of me. “Echo!”
Immediately, my shadow demon looks up, and his tattoos rush skyward, leaving his skin bare as the shadows converge into a massive, moving sphere above our heads. As soon as every inch of shadow has come together, they split up into several different formations and then snap up, lashing out at our flying assailants. His shadows work quickly. It’s not pretty, but it is effective. Necks are snapped and wings are too, making my own press tightly against my back in their own form of a cringe.
One flying demon is able to dodge Echo’s shadows, and I track it with my eyes as it heads for Iceman, no doubt to get rid of the threat of the deadly ice shards. Long claws come extending out of its hands as the demon dives for him, but right before it can make contact, I smash my scythe into its shoulder, and he explodes in a puff of ash.
For some damn reason, that first hit of mine seems to take the edge off my nerves. No more dreading what’s to come, because the battle is officially here. I’m facing it with renewed purpose, right alongside my guys.
The five of us work in tandem. Crux destroys more demons, turning their bodies into useless lumps of twitching, steaming innards, and then Jerif consumes them with flame, pushing the horde of demons back, making it harder to get to us. Iceman moves his assault out further too, sending more and more blades of ice hailing down in a deadly rain of glazed daggers.
Echo continues to watch the sky, his shadows like phantoms reaching out with spindly hands to send the fliers crashing to the ground where they don’t move again. It’s hard for me to engage the same way they are, being that they’re surrounding me protectively, but I’m not complaining. I’m still able to pick off occasional strays with my scythe’s reach, but I have to be very, very careful with where and how I swing so that I don’t accidentally hit my guys. But even so, I manage to ash several more demons who break through the ranks to try to pick one of us off.
But...we’re winning.
I try not to feel surprised by that and instead go for a morefuck yeahattitude, but there’s no denying I didn’t expect things to be goingthiswell. Despite the fact that there were a good two hundred of them to start with, the guys’ powers far outweigh the Outer Ringers’ might in numbers.
I know the guys are getting tired. I am too, and I haven’t even done very much, but hope surges and we all keep pushing, because we can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
The guys are able to spread out a bit more, picking off the last fifty demons with relative ease. By the time the last demon falls, I look around at all the bodies, my torso covered in ash and blood.
“We did it,” I pant.
“Wait.”
At Iceman’s voice, I follow the trail of his gaze until my eyes settle on the rooftop of the mausoleum where that gargoyle-like demon still remains. But now, someone else stands beside him.
He’s tall. Broad. With thick, long dreadlocks hanging down from his head and reaching all the way down to his waist, and a pair of mud-colored wings at his back.
He’s watching us with glowing eyes, while his gargoyle pet is perched on the edge of the roof, clawed hands scraping into the stone of the wall. Something about the glowing-eyed male screamsOphidianin my mind. I don’t exactly know why I jump to that conclusion—call it intuition. Maybe it’s the feathered wings on his back, indicating that he’s different from the rest of our attackers. Maybe it’s the predatory gleam in his eyes and the arrogant angles of his too handsome face. But he radiates threat, and I can practically see the doom he wants to mete out, rippling off his well-muscled body.
“Iceman…” I warn breathlessly.
“I see him.”
My body tenses as a slow, creepy fucking smile spreads over the Ophidian’s face. That’s all the warning we get before the gargoyle at his feet tips its head back and roars.
The moment that noise sounds out, a second wave of demons ascends on us.
“Fuck!” Jerif snarls, and that one word confirms my suspicion.
