09

“What are you waiting for?” hissed Braeden. “Go!” He shoved her none-too-gently before leaping into action, knives streaming through the air. His supply of knives seemed to be endless; as soon as a blade left his fingers, a new one appeared in his hands.

Before Sam had time to contemplate her first move, a large body slammed into her side, knocking her to the floor. As she struggled to right herself, an elephantine trunk wrapped around her waist and flung her into the air as if she weighed no more than a feather. She plummeted towards a wide, gaping mouth framed by pointed teeth the length of her head. Sam closed her eyes, imagining her end in the pit of the creature’s stomach.

Sam was submerged in liquid, wetness seeping through her clothes. But as she opened her eyes, she was not, as she had expected, soaked in the demon’s digestive fluids. By sheer, dumb luck, she had landed blade first into the creature’s eye, the force of her landing driving the dagger deep into its skull. She now stood knee high in a combination of aqueous liquid, blood and a gray, viscous membrane that clung to her boots like glue. With two hard tugs, she managed to retrieve her dagger, and used it as leverage to free her feet from the sticky substance.

“They won’t die until you cut off their heads!” called Tristan, skirmishing with a fire-breathing lizard. He leapt neatly over the three foot high flames then sliced clean through the creature’s neck.

Sam followed Tristan’s advice, hacking away at the demon until its head was severed from its body. Gods, how she wished she had a sword instead of this pathetic butter knife.

A glint of steel caught her eye, and Sam clapped her hand against her forehead at her own idiocy. Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier? She darted between the jackal-man and some sort of feathered worm, then pulled down one of the ornamental swords from the wall. She tested the blade’s edge, wincing as it cut through her skin. It would do.

Imbued with new confidence, Sam marched towards the thick of the fray, sword at the ready. Despite Tristan and Braeden’s efforts, two-thirds of the demons still remained; it would not be an easy victory, if it were a victory at all.

Determined to prove her mettle, Sam buried her sword into the closest demon, ripping through its ribcage and into its heart. The creature sank to its knees, clutching at its chest as she liberated its head from its body. Without pausing, she moved to her next target, ramming her blade through flesh and bone.

As she fought her way through the horde of demons, she found herself practically back-to-back with Tristan. Wordlessly, they acknowledged each other, striking the enemy in unison, felling demons left and right.

The five-headed cobra loomed over them like a monstrous glove. Its jaws hinged open at an obtuse angle as if to swallow them whole. Without warning, it struck, heads descending upon them at an impossibly fast speed. Sam and Tristan just barely managed to roll out of the way. Now, she was mad: that was the second time in the space of half an hour that something had tried to eat her.

Tristan mopped his sweaty face with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheeks. “We can beat this thing,” he said, a hint of fatigue creeping into his voice. “You attack from behind; I’ll distract it.”

While Tristan engaged the demon in an elaborate game of cat and mouse, Sam ducked and dodged her way around to the cobra’s tail. With a running start, she planted her sword and vaulted off the floor, propelling half way up the snake’s vertebrae. Using its rounded scales as stepping stones, she climbed higher, reaching its hooded neck. Gripping onto the folds of its loose skin with one hand, she held her sword aloft with the other, jamming it deep into the braincase of its leftmost head.

The problem with beheading a five-headed cobra was that there were five heads to behead. Sure enough, a single decapitation was not enough to kill the demon. Instead, the now four-headed cobra reared backwards, sending Sam sailing across the room, legs buckling beneath her as she crashed. She attempted to get to her feet, but the instant she put pressure on her right ankle, her eyes crossed at the pain. Hoping to use her sword as a crutch, Sam realized with dawning horror that the blade remained lodged inside the cobra's decollated head.

Sensing injured prey, four demons encircled Sam. She was surrounded by fang and flesh and feather, the sweet scent of her despair drawing them like moths to a flame. A remembered fear washed over her, the creatures returning her to the helpless brat of her youth.

But this time, Tristan was in no position to play hero; the snake demon had coiled itself about his legs, effectively trapping him where he stood. Only his sword, which he rotated above his head in a fanlike motion, shielded him from the cobra’s venomous fangs. A defensive move like that required tremendous energy, and he wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever.

Where was Braeden? Sam hadn’t seen him since he disappeared into the swarming mass. Was he even still alive? Tristan had been at her side, if only for a time; Braeden was alone with his knives.

“Braeden!” she shouted, praying to the gods that somehow he--they--everything--would be alright.

A deafening howl pierced through the din of battle, forcing Sam to her knees, her hands clamped fast over her ears. Even the demons seemed to be taken aback by the sound.

From the remaining mob of demons, a lone, man-shaped figure emerged. Braeden.

But the figure wasn’t Braeden. Or at least, not the Braeden she remembered. The rust-colored eyes, pupils stretched so thin they were almost invisible, those were his. But there was a savagery about them that she didn’t recall. The creature--for he was more demon than man--was bare to the waist, litheness replaced by bulging muscle, the definition and vascularity bordering on deformity. The silver hair she was so used to seeing piled in a topknot fell in loose, wild waves to his hipbone. He spread his arms wide, and a wall of demons assembled behind him, pawing at the ground, but obedient.

“Braeden?” she called again tentatively.

The Braeden doppelganger turned to Sam and smiled, a feral grin that spoke of cruelty to come.

She was as good as dead.