These turned brethren of demons were always on the hunt, always desperate for new souls to strengthen their dying ones. Nope. These assholes never got the memo. Stolen souls never lasted, and it started the damn cycle all over again.
Hunt, steal, kill.
And why the Guardians existed.
Finally. Action I favor, his dragon rumbled, scales rippling beneath Race’s skin, waiting in anticipation for bloodshed.
A child’s cry pierced the night, quickly muffled as he scanned the area.Where are you, pest?
No matter. He’d find the bastard soon enough, send its ass straight to Purgatory, and maybe, just maybe, he’d find a drink worth swallowing,even if it couldn’t dull his edges.
He rounded the corner into a dead-end alley. Broken windows gaped like missing teeth in the decaying walls. A dark-haired demonii stood there, tattered clothes hanging from his skeletal body.
A human lay in a heap at his feet, throat torn out.
Yup. Just another night in paradise.
The demonii cocked his head, mouth pulled back into a grin smeared with blood, red eyes glowing like hot coals in the darkness, fed by the freshly stolen soul.
“Guardian,” he hissed. “Come to save these worthless souls?”
Race didn’t bother responding and summoned his Gaian weapon. The mystical sword inked on his biceps materialized in a swirl of dark smoke before solidifying in his palm. Familiar. Lethal.
“Came prepared, Guardian?” the scourge taunted.
Make it hurt, his dragon snarled, feeding off his own rising bloodlust.
The demonii flew at him, black claws extended. Race sidestepped, swinging his sword in a deadly arc that would have sliced the blight in two, but the demonii twisted midair and flashed. Black blood sprayed the snow as the sword sliced through his shoulder instead.
Yesss. Fun.
The demonii shrieked, the sound like breaking glass, echoing off the dingy, snow-dampened walls. Not a soul stirred. It showed they knew how to stay safe.
The scourge stumbled back, his arm dangling uselessly at his side. “The place reeks of despair,” he rasped. “Let me put them out of their misery.”
This one had balls, shriveled as they were, to bargain mid-fight.
“You don’t get to decide who dies,” Race said, almost bored. “But you can volunteer.”
“I will kill you!” the demonii spat, circling Race, his eyes neon red beacons.
“How?” Race cocked an eyebrow. “Three and a half thousand years, and I’m still here. Go ahead, give it your best shot.”
The scourge threw out his right hand, drawing on the earth’s energy.
Fucking leeches. Even sapped of true power, these turned demons found tricks. He should torch the blight and be done with it.
A fiery bolt launched toward him like a crimson missile. His sword arching, Race blocked the hit midair, sparks hissing past his shoulder. If struck by that damn thing, healing would be a bitch, taking days.
He drove the sword into the demonii’s chest, ripped it free, then spun, and in a single motion, beheaded the cur. The body crumpled, already decomposing before being pulled back into the ground.
Exhaling, Race glanced at the dead man and shook his head. “You know danger lurks in the dark, yet you still dared the fates.”
Another death the human authorities would relegate to an attack from wild dogs.
His senses prickled. Daybreak was close.
Time to knock off, head back.
