And before he could decide his fate, Myone took advantage of his distraction to plant a short spear in his side. “Die, demon scum!” she snarled in his face as she kicked him back.
That kick caused the tip of the spear to rip across his side, all the way to his back.
Malphas cried out as physical pain tore through him. Even so, he reached for her.
She swung her sword, cutting through his wing. That blow sent him pummeling toward the ground. Malphas tried to change forms, but his pain prevented it. It wouldn’t even let him have his natural body.
Cursing, he began peeling off armor as fast as he could. If he didn’t lighten his weight, his one good wing wouldn’t be enough to save him.
This time it was his own blood that soaked him, making his feathers even heavier. His flight more unsteady.
And the ground was growing nearer. Faster than even his rapid heartbeat. Malphas had never once known fear.
Until now.
The bitter taste burned through his throat as he struggled to slow his speed and save his useless life. Strange how many times he’d bragged that death didn’t scare him.
This is a bad way to find out I’m a liar.
Because right then, he wanted to live. Why? He still didn’t know. Life had never been kind to him. Not in any way. But here as he was about to leave it, he discovered a ripe vein of desperation that clung to his miserable existence.
And still he fell, reminding him of just how high they’d flown in the battle. So intent on annihilating each other, none of them had paid attention to the fact that the land below was no longer visible.
That the fall alone could kill them, even though they were immortal.
Then, just as he feared nothing could save him, he felt something grab hold of his arm. With a gasp, he looked up and saw his brother.
Itzal grimaced. “Gah! Malphas, how much do you weigh?”
“Be grateful I stripped off my armor.”
“I’d be more grateful if you’d diet.”
Malphas bit back a laugh as he saw the ground speeding ever closer. Yet not as fast as it’d been a few moments before. Had his brother not interfered, he’d have been a pitiful stain on the scenery by now.
Once they were close to the ground, Itzal dropped him gently on the soft grass. “I’ll return when I can. You’d best hide from the humans.”
Hide from the humans … would the degradations never cease? But what choice did he have? He was in too much pain to conceal his demonic form. With his wing damaged, he couldn’t fly.
He could fry them, but if he passed out …
They would have him.
As much as he hated to admit it, Itzal was right. Hide or die.
“Cursed, wretched humans.” They should all die. Preferably by his hand, but any means would suit him at the moment.
Groaning, he made his way toward cover. He’d need a place to rest. One where the humans couldn’t stumble upon him while he was locked in this form.
Yet as he walked, he realized that his feet weren’t the best form of travel. No wonder he preferred flight. This was excruciating and every step seemed to be harder than the last.
“I will not fall.” He repeated that litany over and over in his head, determined to walk and be ready to fight.
If only his wounds had ears. Sadly, neither did his legs. They buckled and sent him to the ground.
“I won’t die here.” Malphas crawled toward the small opening he saw ahead. He only hoped there was no one else in that overhang. Like this, he doubted if he could battle even a mouse.
Malphas moved forward, pushing his sword. The darkness was soothing if not musty. Stale. The stench was such that he could taste it.
