“Begin!” Ronen bellowed.
I stared at the line of demons and our bloody, tired squad. “We’re never going to win this. They won’t listen to me. So what’s the purpose of this besides a beatdown?”
“Or maybe it’s a lesson,” Oliver suggested.
“In what?”
“Well, besides stabbing him, was there anything else that may have pissed him off that he thinks you’d need to learn to be a good leader?”
Probably. But I had no time to think about that as a horde of demons came our way. I frantically glanced at every demonic face, analyzed their movements and powers, searching for any sign of Aspen.
But there were too many to look at.
“Do you know which one he is?” I asked Oliver.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He held his dagger higher.
“Oliver!”
“Focus on the squad. Or our chances of even trying to beat the Nightmares are zilch.”
They were easy to spot. Unlike the Devils, who were similar to us in trying to get their squad to work together, the Nightmares attacked as a coordinated unit. They worked around the chaotic Devils and beelined for Dusty and Matt.
No.
I tried to lusceler to them, but the Devils surrounded us.
“You stun them when there’s an opening. I stab.”
“I do hear you’re good at that.”
We ducked shots of fire—red, not blue. We parried levitating daggers and guarded each other’s backs. With each block and dodge, we rounded them up, bringing them closer. Oliver didn’t need to touch them to force them into their fears. But if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to stun them for long, especially not with this large a group. Proximity was our friend. The five of them stepped closer, and Oliver struck. They all froze, demonic eyes widening.
I gave myself a second to consider if any of them were Aspen, figured I’d probably feel his fear if they were, and then attacked. I slashed tendons in their heels, forcing them to fall. I stabbed their stomachs, through their ribcages toward their lungs, anything that’d keep them down. Oliver was about to eliminate the last one, then cursed.
The Devil had woken from his fear and clamped onto Oliver’s arm. The dagger in its stomach didn’t bleed. Only pink-tinged fluid seeped out. It was a soul—one that clearly didn’t care about pain.
“Touch him!” I shouted as I luscelered over to help.
I bashed the soul in the back of the head, hoping to knock it out. It reared back, smashing its skull into my nose. I hissed, stumbling away.
Oliver pressed his hand against the soul’s demonic face, his eyes flaring green. “It’s not work?—”
The soul snatched Oliver’s wrist. It snapped. Oliver cried out. Then it lifted him by the throat.
“Super strength?” Oliver sputtered, clawing at the soul’s hand. His eyes still flared green as he tried to bring the soul down.
I dropped to the sand and sawed through both Achilles tendons. The demon fell, but brought Oliver with it, hand still locked around his neck.
“Let him go! There’s no killing,” I bit out.
The soul smiled with its demonic face. The illusion seemed so real. It slowly brought Oliver’s neck toward its mouth.
“Almost. There. Luce,” Oliver gasped.
To hell with this.
I gripped the soul’s neck and brought forth my hallucination power. My own smile curled at my lips at its undulating sound. I punched into the soul’s mind and broke through the mental wall it held against Oliver. His terrorizing power brushed against mine. My power shuddered as I pulled out, letting Oliver control the narrative.
