Page 48 of Gladiator Moon

With a demon horde pounding on the heavy door behind me, I fly across the armory and up the wall, where I reach out and wrap my hand around the sword’s handle. And wow, the hilt fits my hand perfectly. Almost like it has been made for me, which is a strange thought. Then again, not many people can wield such a weapon. Apparently, only those imbued with angel magic can do so, and I have been. My dark angel wings are still proof of that. Angel magic indeed!

But yeah, the moment my fingers wrap around the grip, a pulse of heat surges up my arm and into my shoulder. My ice sword immediately shatters into glittering frost, almost as if it knows it is no longer needed in the presence of a weapon created to destroy demons.

The demons, perhaps unaware of what now awaits them inside the armory, slam harder and harder against the heavy wooden door. Does the Dark One himself know that I now wield the Devil Killer? Another series of impacts follows, each harder than the last. The hinges groan.

From below, Azul swallows hard. Prince Pickles tightens his grip around my shoulders. Pretty sure that is him whimpering in my ear. He has always watched the Games from the safety of the royal box, where the demons have never posed the slightest threat to him. All that is changing now.

Meanwhile, I test the sword. It is surprisingly light and perfectly balanced in my hand. There is also something dangerously eager about it, almost as if the weapon has a personality of its own and desperately wants to be used. Okay, that is new.

Bam! Another impact, then another and another. Wood splinters. A fist the size of a bull shark’s snout punches through the door. Then another fist appears beside it, followed by a hideous horned face straight from my nightmares. The iron bolt bends as the entire door buckles inward, barely holding against the demons on the other side.

Soon, the door inevitably explodes inward, and demons pour inside. Twenty. Maybe thirty. Too many to count while trying not to also die.

The nearest demon roars, swinging nothing but its long, extended claws, which, apparently, it thinks are all it needs. It thinks wrong. I step forward, duck beneath its telegraphed swipe, and slash. That is all it takes.

The Devil Killer passes through its neck as easily as a hot knife through butter. The demon freezes, looks confused, then bursts into a billowing cloud of black smoke.

Oddly, the sword hums with approval. I don’t remember the previous sword being encouraging in any way, so this is new.

“Oh,” says Azul. “So that’s what it can do.”

I smile. “That, and more.”

“Truly forged by angels,” says the wizard, staring at the now-glowing blade.

“Looks like it.”

Three more demons charge, all wielding heavy axes. I jump and spin, Sebastian’s lessons flowing through me as naturally as instinct. The Devil Killer sweeps horizontally from left to right, then I reverse the blade and slash back the other way. Three bodies stumble forward as three heads tumble free. A moment later, all three demons dissolve into billowing black smoke.

The demons hesitate. I’m not surprised. From my experience, demons have an innate desire to stay alive. I suspect they are now recognizing that this might be their last battle. I am not about to let them think this through and retreat.

Spurred by the sword’s eagerness, I leap, wings spread wide, and land atop a table stacked with primitive weapons. Then I dive back into the fray, dodging blades, teeth, and claws, trusting my vampiric dexterity and inner alarm to keep me alive. Both do. Couldn’t say as much for the demons, who fall by the dozens as the Devil Killer flashes, slashes, and spears. A head tumbles free. A clawed hand follows. One particularly thick demon is nearly cut in two.

Every demon touched by the blade simply ceases to exist. No corpse remains behind. No blood spills across the floor. No spirit returns to Hell to regroup and come after me another day. There is only a burst of black smoke, and then the demon is gone forever.

Azul stands to the side and raises his hands. Purple bolts crackle from his fingertips as demons suddenly find themselves floating helplessly near the ceiling. I sweep beneath them. One slash. Another. Another. That is all it takes. No disemboweling. No guts. No blood. Each demon simply flashes into dark smoke, then vanishes completely. I could have been a kid at a Macy’s Day Parade popping balloons with a long stick.

Minutes later, silence settles over the armory as black smoke hangs just below the ceiling. The prince peeks out from behind a massive shield I had deposited him behind.

“Are they dead?” he asks.

I look down at the glowing sword. “Dead or gone. Pretty much the same, I think.”

“Daddy won’t be happy.”

I notice movement: a lone demon cowering on the floor, missing a hand. Clearly lopped off while I was using my ice sword. When it sees me looking, it yelps and tries to crawl away. I dash over to it, grabbing it by one of its long horns.

“Congratulations,” I say as it whimpers. “You just got to be a tour guide.”

It grunts and shakes its massive head.

I raise the Devil Killer. White flames dance along its black edge. The light shines in the demon’s obsidian eyes.

“I wasn’t asking,” I say. “Can you speak?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“The communication spell should extend to him and anyone else in the nether realm,” says Azul behind me.