All Spell Breaks Loose

Chapter 22

I was stretched out like the catch of the day just waiting to be filleted.

Sandrina Ghalfari’s dark, glittering eyes told me that I wasn’t the only one having that image, but unlike me, she was enjoying it. At least if she decided to indulge herself, I wouldn’t be around for it, at least not for long; a single nick from one of those poisoned blades and I’d be gone. Though with Sandrina’s sadistic history, more than likely the poison would paralyze me first, giving Sarad Nukpana’s mom plenty of time to relish my agonizing death.

Nothing like impending torment to give you a positive outlook.

My feet and legs were free, so I could have the satisfaction of at least kicking the bitch first, but they were also bare.

See above concerning one nick equaling painful death or paralysis.

Sandrina glanced at the Scythe of Nen and kicked it down the stairs and into the carnage-filled chaos the temple floor had become. I didn’t have a Plan C, but if I did, it would have involved my unfettered fists and Sandrina’s face.

“My only regret is that I won’t have the time to inflict the agonies on you that you inflicted on my son.” Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a vulpine smile. “Sarad has forbidden you to be killed, so to repay you for all that you’ve done, I will go to great pains to ensure that your loved ones linger for as long as possible.” Her voice dropped to a purr. “Rest easy and know that I will take very good care of them.”

A banshee shriek shook the air as a broken pike came down on Sandrina’s head, dropping Nukpana’s mom like a rock.

Princess Mirabai stood over Sandrina’s crumpled form, clutching a blood-spattered pike from one of her guards. Guards that were now nowhere in sight, though the floor where they’d been standing was nowhere in sight, either. The hooked blade had been broken off; the wood was split and splintered on one end, making a half-respectable spear. Mirabai held it with a practiced grip; her feet spread shoulder-width apart in a solid stance. It looked like a certain princess had had quarterstaff training.

“Plan B is back on the table!” I crowed.

If only we could find the damned dagger.

As I scrambled to my feet, a shadow fell over us and Mirabai gasped.

It was Mychael. And he was armed with a huge battle-ax that would have been the envy of Vegard and homicidal berserkers everywhere. Now, that was what I called sexy.

“I want you now,” I told him.

Mychael gathered me to him with his free arm, and for the next few moments, I was out of breath for all the right reasons.

“He’s on our side,” I told Mirabai once Mychael’s lips let me speak.

The little princess had lowered her pike. “I assumed as much. Your fiancé?”

“Not exactly.”

Mychael’s eyes gleamed. “At least not yet.”

I jerked my head toward the temple floor. “The Scythe is down there, somewhere around the foot of the steps.”

Mychael looked where I’d indicated, noted the location, then ignored it, whipping out a picklock to open the manacle binding me to the Saghred’s pedestal.

There was blood on his hand.

“No!” I screamed.

“What is—”

“Your hand’s bloody!”

“It’s not my blood.”

“It doesn’t care!”

Mychael saw my hand fused to the rock and his expression darkened to the blackest murder. If Tam wanted to take out Sarad Nukpana, he’d better hurry up and do it, because Mychael was about to cut in line.

“Yeah, I feel the same way,” I said, taking the picklock. “Free the others, then go find that dagger.”

“Put your chains flat on the floor,” Mychael told Mirabai, “and close your eyes.”

Without a trace of fear, Mirabai quickly knelt on the floor, bowed her head so her face was protectively tucked against her knees, and put her chained wrists out as far from her body as she could. Mychael brought the ax down, the blade biting through the chains with a single stroke, then went to do the same for Kesyn and the Nathrachs.

I got to work on my manacle. If I got it open, my hand would still be fused to the rock, but at least I’d be able to straighten my arm. Small improvement, but I’d take it. The manacle opened with a sharp click, revealing my cut and bloody wrist.

Oh no.

Before I could stop it, a single drop of blood fell from my wrist to sizzle on the Saghred’s fiery surface. I froze and held my breath.

Nothing.

The stone simply absorbed the blood and didn’t do the same to me. Nukpana had said the rock had agreed not to eat me; it wanted me to suffer as much it had. I tried to flex my fingers and the Saghred vibrated, almost like a growl.

“Okay, okay. You’re the boss.” I clenched my teeth. “For now.”

“Give me the ax; I’ll take care of these,” came Tam’s voice from behind me. “Go find the Scythe.” I tried to turn to see, but the Saghred would let me move only so far.

Mychael emerged from the back of the dais with a curved goblin sword, and ran down what was left of the stairs to the temple floor.

“Save yourself the trouble,” Deidre was telling Tam. “See that weasel of a guard cowering over there?”

“I see more than one.”

“The one trying to push himself into the corner. He has the keys on his belt.”

I couldn’t see Tam, but I could see that Khrynsani guard just fine. He went wide-eyed with panic, presumably at having the complete and undivided attention of the chief mage for the House of Mal’Salin holding a big ax. The guard did what most people in his predicament would—he ran; at least he tried to. There was a loop of keys on his belt one moment, then the keys went flying through the air back toward Tam, and the guard was jerked forward to smack face-first into the marble floor. Magic could be both useful and fun.

Seconds later, Mirabai ran back to Sandrina’s still unconscious form and cuffed her hands behind her back with what I assumed were Deidre’s manacles.

“Tam, stop playing and go help Mychael find that dagger,” Kesyn ordered.

The temple had gone insane, scenes from a hundred nightmares playing out in horrific reality. The goblins of the Resistance were fighting with a desperation that came from struggling not only for their lives, but for the future of their entire race. The sea dragons had broken through the floor only a minute or two ago. The female had clawed her way free of the shattered marble and with tail, claws, and teeth was tearing into any goblin flesh she could reach. Her only slightly smaller mate soon joined her in the carnage.

Jash Masloc snatched a pair of Resistance mages out of range just as one of the dragon’s claws slashed through the air where they had stood. The goblin mage then punched the air before the dragon’s face and a blazing white shield blocked an incoming snap of teeth the length of his forearm.

Piaras’s voice was ringing with a battlefield sleepsong aimed at two large groups of Khrynsani guards. They were locked in combat with what appeared to be goblin army officers led by Imala Kalis. The Khrynsani struck by Piaras’s song were dropping to the ground where they stood. They were dropping and the dragons were eating, for the most part without pausing to chew, merely tossing back their huge heads to swallow entire sections of bodies whole. It was gruesome as hell, but Piaras was doing what had to be done. It was us or them, and while the dragons were busy eating Khrynsani they couldn’t do the same to the Resistance fighters. He was buying time for all of us.

A flash of bright light came from just beyond the temple doors instantly followed by two deafening explosions, one right after the other. An orange glow filled the doorway. What the hell? Execution Square had been completely empty when I’d been brought in, and there hadn’t been anything combustible or flammable already there. Even the dragons were startled enough to stop feeding for all of two seconds. Sarad Nukpana’s allies, who had been stampeding out of the temple, screamed and ran back in—until they saw the dragons again. They’d come here to see a wedding and enjoy a nice evening of sacrifices. Now they had to choose which way to die: dragon or whatever hell had broken loose outside in the square. Most of them wisely decided to take their chances outside.

“Raine, we have a situation,” Kesyn said.

Mirabai looked at the floor around the altar and jumped back, stifling a scream.

A numbing coldness lapped against my legs. A churning black mist was up past my knees and climbing fast. Admittedly, I’d been a little preoccupied, but I should have noticed that. I was fused to the Saghred and couldn’t escape, but Kesyn could.

“Kesyn, run!” I screamed.

The old goblin mage had seen it before I had, and not only did he not run; he stayed right where he was. I grabbed his arm and, with my free hand, tried with everything I had to drag him off of the altar.

“I’m not leaving you,” Kesyn told me. “I can help.”

“By getting yourself killed?”

In the next two seconds, the wall of mist was almost up to my waist. Parts of it broke off from the rest and rapidly spiraled upward even farther to form bars. I reached out with one finger and barely touched a single bar of mist. My hand instantly went numb to the wrist.

Kesyn was actually grinning. “Don’t worry. Getting killed is not going to happen.”

No. This was not happening. I didn’t nearly get the Scythe only to lose the Scythe, only to almost get the Scythe again, to be imprisoned in freaking mist bars, with a lunatic old goblin sitting behind me who wasn’t going to do a damned thing about any of it.

“It’s a Level Thirteen ward,” Kesyn continued, seemingly unconcerned. “We can’t get out and no one else can get in.”

The crazy coot. “Wards only go to twelve,” I snarled.

Kesyn shrugged. “These pricks are real go-getters. This level of work is beyond what I’ve ever seen.”

Not only was he crazy; he was hallucinating. “What pricks?”

“Remember those five black mages who were standing over there with Carnades?” Kesyn asked mildly. “Well, apparently they never left. I could kick myself for not noticing until now. Must be getting feebleminded in my old age. Though they do have the best damned veils I’ve ever seen.”

I looked into the shadows behind the altar. There had been several Khrynsani black mages standing with Carnades. They weren’t there now. I hadn’t seen them go anywhere, and with their fancy robes, I would have noticed that.

I stopped and sniffed. Spices and incense. Dammit, I could still smell them. With all the blood and smoke and dragon breath flying around here, I hadn’t noticed that the spicy smell hadn’t gone away, even though there was no incense burning. The bastards were still here, and obviously they weren’t just standing around anymore. They were veiled and working hard. If I hadn’t already been hurt enough, I would have smacked myself in the head for being so stupid. Sarad Nukpana would have been prepared for anything. He wasn’t depending on mere guards to keep the Saghred safe. The Khrynsani had been trying to get the Saghred back for nearly a thousand years. They would never leave it unguarded.

And it wasn’t unguarded now.

Why did Nukpana’s best black mages wait until now to encase the altar and Saghred in a ward? Maybe it had taken them that long to get the ward started. Carnades had said that he couldn’t activate a mirror in less than fifteen minutes; maybe this was similar. I didn’t know and it didn’t matter. That Kesyn and I were stuck in a ward with five of Nukpana’s biggest and baddest did. Even if Mychael or Tam found the Scythe, it wouldn’t do us a damned bit of good if they couldn’t get it to me.

The black mages hadn’t dropped their veils, but the mist flowed around them, outlining their shapes. One of the bastards was standing less than three feet away and I’d been completely clueless. The ward spinning and solidifying around us looked like black mist swirling with motes of bright red light like thousands of demonic eyes.

Kesyn shook his head in disgust. “These are Sarad’s top spellslingers; and the grandstanding sons of bitches can’t resist showing off.” He snorted. “Spells with sparklies. Why didn’t they just tie a bow around it?”

“Do something!” I hissed to Kesyn.

“I can’t use magic in here,” he said. “We’d fry. They wouldn’t.”

“There’s nothing you can do? Because there sure as hell isn’t anything I can do.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s taking all the strength and concentration this bunch has to hold the ward together. They can’t even risk letting their concentration waver to lower their veils, and I doubt they can even spare the thought to listen to us. They’ve positioned themselves between two layers of wards, so they’re shielded from the outside and inside against magic, weapons, and sound. So spellsongs won’t work, either.” The old goblin leaned back and twisted from side to side, cracking his back. “So we’re waiting on your lover boy to get back with that dagger. Though I do wish he’d hurry. I wouldn’t want this happening prematurely.”

I was tempted to smack Kesyn upside the head. “He won’t be able to get in!”

The old goblin gave me a sly wink. “I’ve got a key.”

Sarad Nukpana was directing his dragons to slaughter the Resistance; he wasn’t defending the Saghred, because he knew it was being taken care of. He knew that I wasn’t going anywhere and neither was the Saghred. To keep the two of us right where he wanted us until he dealt with the Resistance, Nukpana had tasked his top black mages with wrapping us in a lethal Level Thirteen blanket.

Suddenly the air in the temple crackled with static like right before a lightning strike, quivering, eager, and alive… and wrong.

At its epicenter stood Sarad Nukpana.

He began gathering his power like one of the dragons drawing in a massive breath. In an instant, all of the chaos and death fell into the background as a sound like a distant thunder built until it vibrated the very air around us with its intensity. It shook the ground beneath our feet with a rumbling throb. Once. Twice. Three times.

Everyone felt it. Most of the combatants down on the temple floor retreated to the far walls, thinking another dragon was coming up through what was left of the floor.

I couldn’t drag my eyes away from Sarad Nukpana. “I have a feeling this is worse than dragons.”

Kesyn was off of the altar and standing beside me, his face grim, all signs of humor gone. “It’ll make them look like puppies. Sarad hasn’t even broken a sweat yet, but he’s about to. I hear he picked up a major power boost a few weeks ago.”

I nodded and continued staring. Sarad Nukpana had more power to draw on now, more magic at his command than anyone or anything except the Saghred itself. Nukpana had recently eaten the souls and consumed the life forces and magic of history’s strongest and most evil sorcerers. Men who had been conquerors and killers, who had cut swaths of death and destruction through entire kingdoms. They had been prisoners inside the Saghred along with Sarad Nukpana. And along with Nukpana, they had escaped. The goblin had methodically hunted them down and consumed every last one of them.

Sarad Nukpana had all of that knowledge, all of that killing power at his disposal, and he had yet to truly unleash it.

Until now.

Time slowed to a stop.

It hadn’t really, but my mind made it seem that everyone was moving in slow motion. This had happened to me before when I was in the middle of something that had a high probability of getting me killed. It was my mind’s way of giving me a chance to figure out how to undo my stupid.

This wasn’t my doing, not this time.

Sarad Nukpana stood as a statue, his beautiful face drawn into a rictus of rage, releasing his power, giving his magic flesh.

It took form, born from what Nukpana had become, created out of his own poisoned mind, the manifestation of his twisted soul. The air wavered before the goblin’s upraised hands, wavered and came together as a living thing that only vaguely held a human shape. It was easily three times Mychael’s height, its pallid skin stretched and rippling, not from muscle, but from things moving inside. Huge, distorted faces with mouths stretched in silent screams, fangs pressed against the skin, stretching it to the point of splitting open, eager and desperate to feed. Monstrous hands, grasping and pushing, arms and legs writhing inside determined to escape the skinform Sarad Nukpana had created.

Prince Chigaru and a handful of army officers were closest to the thing when it manifested. The prince led the attack. The creature bent and, with a mere swat of its fingers, sent Chigaru flying toward the opening in the floor. The prince stopped just short of falling in. Princess Mirabai ran to his side, armed with nothing except her broken pike. The officers rushed to protect their prince.

The remaining people still in the temple who had stood with Sarad Nukpana for whatever reason—terror, intimidation or like-minded sick souls, twisted by an all-consuming desire for power—they all ran. Loyalty held by fear or intimidation was quickly abandoned when something even scarier showed up.

I spotted Mychael using Tam’s curved blade, carving his way back toward us.

“Does he have it?” Kesyn snapped.

If Mychael had found the Scythe, I couldn’t see it. “Your eyes are better in this murk than mine,” I shot back.

The old mage stared intently. “I think he’s got it in his other hand. Come on, elf; get your ass up here.”

Mychael saw Nukpana’s living nightmare come to unholy life at the same time as everyone else. He glanced sharply between where Kesyn and I were sealed in the Khrynsani’s ward to the gigantic, patchwork monster that Nukpana had created and was about to unleash on the Resistance. Even with the dragons against them, they had been winning, but Nukpana’s creature was about to change that. Mychael’s frustration and rage were clear. He could take on one, not both.

Tam made the choice for all of us.

Only one thing could keep Sarad Nukpana occupied long enough to at least give us a chance to destroy the Saghred. Only one thing had the strength and cunning to bring down a monster.

A major-class demon summoned by black magic.

Mychael had found the Scythe of Nen.

Now Tam was going to sell his soul to buy us time to use it.

“We won’t let you down, boy,” Kesyn whispered.

Tam stepped out onto one of the few sections of the temple floor that hadn’t been cracked or broken, his back toward the mysterious blaze just outside the temple in Execution Square, the flames’ reflection licking hungrily at his gleaming black armor.

Tam didn’t say a word. There were no incantations, no raised arms, no shouts of challenge. In testament to his skill, he simply stepped aside as the shadows to his left parted like a curtain.

The demon was shorter than Sarad Nukpana’s creature, but height was the only thing it lacked. It was part man, part bull, and all demon—from his cloven hooves to his massive, horned head.

The monster and Tam’s demon took measure of each other, then began slowly circling, drawing closer to their intended kill with every step.

The time to stop Tam was long gone. The demon had been summoned and released, the damage done. Tam was one of the most powerful mages I’d ever met, but Sarad Nukpana had the knowledge, cunning, and power of six of history’s magical heavyweights.

Without the Saghred’s power, what I wanted to do and what I could do were worlds away from each other. Right now I was less useful against both demon and monster than Mirabai and her broken stick.

Mychael raced up the stairs to the altar, and Kesyn didn’t give him time to start trying to blast his way through. The old goblin quickly held out both hands telling him to stop and then a single finger asking him to wait. Mychael gave a tight nod, and stood ready just outside the ward, facing the Khrynsani black mages with his magic flaring, bright and white-hot. He held it in check, letting it swirl and quickly grow around him like a contained cyclone, ready for release.

“We don’t have to break their spell, just their concentration.” Kesyn told me with grim satisfaction. “I’ve been arming myself for the past day in case something like this happened. It’s one of the many advantages to being old. There’s one thing that can get through any ward. Air. These bastards can’t concentrate if they can’t breathe—or don’t want to.” The old mage grinned. “Take a breath and hold it.”

“What? I don’t unde—”

“You don’t have to understand, just do it. Do you think I’ve been eating that cheese because I liked the taste? Take one old man and add stinky cheese. Do the math, girl—or in this case, the chemistry.”

One second those black mages were sealed in a Level Thirteen ward; the next they were gasping for fresh air that no longer existed.

Their concentration broke when Kesyn broke wind.

The mighty mage Kesyn Badru released a spell that laid low the collective strength of the Khrynsani’s most evil archsorcerers.

That’d sound better in the history books than one fart made the old man a hero.

When the Khrynsani lost their concentration, the spell controlling the ward buckled and broke, releasing a backlash that left only two of the mages standing, though staggering would be a more accurate description.

Mychael and his magic were waiting for them. When the crackling light dimmed, the mages weren’t dead at his feet. They were simply gone. A wisp of smoke floating in the air and the fading scent of incense were the only clues to what had happened to them.

Then there was no ward, no black mages. It was just us with the Scythe of Nen and the Saghred.

Mychael removed the Scythe from its scabbard.

Carnades’s blood still coated the blade, blood that had to be present before the Scythe could cut into the Saghred. For possibly the first and definitely the last time, Carnades Silvanus was about to do something noble.

Mychael started to give me the Scythe, then hesitated, his eyes on mine.

“You promised,” I said quietly. “I have to do this, not you.” I had to swallow to get the rest of the words out. “If this… goes bad, I’m not going to die knowing you’re living with that guilt.”

Mychael’s hand tightened around the Scythe of Nen until his knuckles showed white against his tanned skin.

Then he put it in my outstretched hand, and stepped back to give me and Kesyn room to work. I knew he’d stay close. He couldn’t protect me from the Saghred, but he would keep anything and everything else from harming me.

The Saghred was on its pedestal, no shields protecting it now. I didn’t kid myself for one instant; the Saghred didn’t need any help. It’d kept itself intact and feeding for thousands of years, maybe longer.

Somehow the stone knew what I was about to do. It hadn’t resisted when the demon queen had thrust the Scythe into it to free her husband and king. I was only one elf with no magic, and the rock knew it because we were bonded and it’d taken my magic itself. It knew my fears and my weaknesses; and believe me, there were a lot of both right now, especially fears. But Tam had killed the demon queen with good old stealth and cunning. I had both of those. However, Tam had also had surprise on his side. He’d snuck up on the demon queen and lobbed her head off. There wasn’t going to be any sneaking up on the Saghred.

Kesyn had been standing a little off to the side to give Mychael and me some semblance of privacy. He stepped up to stand by my side. “Let me get some Reapers down here first,” he said quietly.

An instant later, I felt the old goblin mage’s call, literally felt it, his thoughts brushing like butterfly wings against my mind. I resisted the urge to shiver. The Reapers appeared almost instantly.

Kesyn and I looked up. A vortex had opened that went through and beyond the temple ceiling. We couldn’t see the end of it, or out into the temple. The swirling wasn’t some kind of gray mist; it was Reapers. Thousands of them.

Instantly the Saghred was in my mind, whispering to me without words, a sibilant hiss that pushed the vision of the Reapers aside and replaced them with what was happening right now to the people I loved. Tam clenched in one hand of Nukpana’s creature, while it fought the demon with the other hand for possession of Tam. Piaras snapped up by a dragon and dragged screaming into the bowels of the temple. Sarad Nukpana had turned his attention from his monster to Mychael. Mychael was now on his knees, magic fading, strength almost gone, struggling under Nukpana’s unrelenting attack. Khrynsani black mages surrounded him, sacrificial daggers at the ready.

“No!” I screamed the word out loud and in my mind.

None of it was true. The Saghred knew me; it knew what scared me.

It was the Saghred that was afraid. Sarad Nukpana had somehow bound it; it couldn’t take me until the goblin gave his permission. But that didn’t mean that the thousands of souls about to be ripped from the stone through me wouldn’t kill me or drive me irrevocably insane. Like me, the Saghred was vulnerable, possibly for the first time in its existence. An existence I was going to end, even if I ended my own life.

I was afraid, too. Hell, I was terrified. But my fears weren’t for me, not anymore. Some things were worth dying for. Tam knew that. He had made that decision for himself, determined that an eternity of torment was worth destroying the Saghred to save those he loved, and his people, all of his people.

The Saghred wasn’t giving up. It weighed down my mind, sending my thoughts into a tailspin of torturous images.

My fear will not control me. My fear will not control me. The Saghred will not control me.

I had a power that the Saghred didn’t have and would never have. In its own way it was magic, magic that the Saghred could never bury or bind or take away from me.

Love.

Tam was risking his soul for it. Mychael had fought for me all these months and was now by my side protecting me. Chigaru’s love for Mirabai and his people inspired him to challenge the evil of Sarad Nukpana.

One rock wasn’t going to take that away from any of us.

I got a death grip on the Scythe.

For an instant, I could see through the Reapers. The dark energy swirling around Sarad Nukpana shifted as he saw me poised with the Scythe. All of his attention, the entire focus of his vast power, was caught up in controlling his monstrous creation.

Nukpana’s mad eyes widened in desperation as he screamed to the Saghred, “Take her!”

I drove the Scythe of Nen into the Saghred up to the hilt.

Shrieks, screams, agonized wailing, whether from me or the Saghred or its captive souls, I didn’t know and was beyond caring. It was as if I’d plunged the Scythe into my own guts. My breath froze, my heart fluttering in shock and panic, fluttering, then slowing, stopping. My fingers weakened on the Scythe’s grip, the cold metal sliding away. Suddenly another hand covered mine, warm and strong, keeping my fingers tight around the dagger, sharing his strength, his determination.

“Hang on, girl. We’re almost there.”

Kesyn Badru.

I managed to raise my head. I could no longer see through the spirits swirling around me and Kesyn. I looked up. The Saghred’s souls were escaping, the Reapers guiding them up into the vortex and on to whatever came after.

When the souls finally stopped coming out of the stone, I glanced down. The Saghred was smooth and as opaque as fine alabaster. I could see the blade of the Scythe of Nen inside, its grip protruding from between my trembling fingers. There were no more souls inside. My breath came in ragged gasps. The stone wasn’t the only one that had been drained. I pulled the blade out, immediately reversing the grip and bringing both the pommel and my free fist down on the Saghred, shattering it into glittering dust.

Sarad Nukpana’s scream turned to a howl of rage and disbelief, of ambitions dashed, plans in ruins. He’d seen the Saghred destroyed. He staggered back and nearly fell, maybe from witnessing the obliteration of his future, but his focus on his monster had wavered and broken; the backlash from the botched link drove him to his knees. The creature began folding in on itself as if deflating, emitting a keening cry as the magic that made it vanished.

Tam’s demon ignored the monster completely, his gleaming red eyes hungrily locked on Sarad Nukpana. The goblin recovered quickly, but the demon was faster. With a bellow of triumph, he charged toward the steps and Nukpana, his hooves striking sparks from the floor, each strike like a clap of thunder. The goblin shielded himself and defiantly stood his ground, snarling a guttural spell that rocked the stone beneath our feet, throwing us to the floor.

The demon kept coming; his gleaming black horns gored Sarad Nukpana’s shields and contemptuously tossed them aside like a bullfighter’s cloak. The demon grabbed Nukpana, and still the goblin fought, his magic flaying the demon in uncontrolled rage and dawning terror. The seared streaks in the demon’s flesh healed instantly, and a sound escaped his throat that sounded almost like laughter.

The demon turned and inclined his massive head to Tam.

Tam bowed in return.

The darkness next to the dais rippled and opened revealing a dim oval of reddish light. The stench of sulfur-scented hot air flowed out of the passage that the demon had opened.

The demon charged toward the Hellgate with his prize, as our ears rang with Sarad Nukpana’s screams.