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I threw myself sideways, scuttling the Rakshasa on my left and barely avoiding the urn as it crashed inches from my head. The moisture that ran through the shards of the ruined vessel was thick, gluey, and black. Blood, but not human, not animal. It smelled altogether different and alien.
I threw a punch into the face of the Rakshasa I’d scuttled, crushing her bulbous nose and sending blood and bits of flesh flying, then scrambled to my feet and ran for the nearest fissure. It was six against one and that wasn’t great odds in anyone’s language. If I could restrict available space—restrict the space they had to come at me—I might have more of a chance.
Air stirred, and the sensation of danger swamped me. I swung around and lashed out with the heel of my foot, sending the nearest Rakshasa flying backward. Another dove at me. I sliced down with Amaya, severing flesh and bone with equal ease. I continued to swing Amaya, using her as a shield as I ran backward, and prayed like hell there was nothing between me and that fissure.
My back hit stone, and pain snatched my breath. Blood began to pour from the wounds on my back and dots danced before my eyes. I hissed, but somehow remained upright and swinging.
The Rakshasa came at me as one, a hideous mass of flesh that cut and tore. I blocked blows, ducked teeth and claws, and attacked as best I could, until the nearby walls were coated and it was hard to know what blood was mine and what belonged to the Rakshasa. But there was no stopping them, no matter how much flesh I hacked from their bodies, because they didn’t die. They just regenerated.
This wasn’t going to end prettily. Not for me, anyway.
And that meant I had to try something else. Anything else.
The fissure was several feet away to my left. It was big and dark, and air stirred sluggishly around it, hinting at a possible escape route. Or, at the very least, another chamber.
Anywhere had to be better than here.
I kicked the nearest Rakshasa in the gut, sending her sprawling into her companions, then swung Amaya viciously from left to right, hamstringing several others. Their attack briefly faltered. I spun and ran into the fissure. The walls closed in around me, slick and uneven. The air still stirred, but it was putrid and dense, and my lungs felt like they were on fire.
As my shoulders began to brush the sharp edges of the walls, I slowed, my heart racing and my breath a harsh rasp. Little sound came from behind me—certainly no sound of pursuit. And yet every sense I had pulsed with the closeness of danger. Whether it was coming from the Rakshasa behind me or something unseen up ahead, I had no idea.
I struggled on, slipping sideways through the rock as the space grew tighter. It was blacker than ink in this foul-smelling place, the light of the stalactites having long since faded. Amaya wasn’t emitting any flame, either, but I could hear her static running through my mind, a chant that vacillated between the need to kill and the urge for caution.
The fissure grew even tighter, until the rocks were scraping my breasts and butt. I cursed softly, then jumped as the sensation of movement stirred the air around me. I raised Amaya, holding her in front of me even though I couldn’t say whether the movement had come from ahead or behind. I scanned the darkness either way, but there was nothing to see or scent, and certainly no sound of steps.
But the Rakshasa were spirits, and maybe they’d finally shed their human skins. If that were the case, then I wouldn’t hear anything. And it meant I was in even deeper shit. I could fight flesh, and I could see ghosts, but would I even be able to see the Rakshasa in spirit form, let alone fight them?
I guess I was going to find out, because if the gathering sensation of movement was anything to go by, they were coming after me.
I pushed on, my lungs still burning and my head beginning to spin. I swallowed heavily and kept a fierce grip on Amaya. My skin was slick with blood—both mine and the stuff from the urn—but it didn’t make me slip through the rocks any easier.
Sound began to creep across the silence. It was soft and whispery, and I cocked my head sideways, listening intently. The image of snakes slithering down the body of the Rakshasa and onto the floor rose, and I groaned softly. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with.
My hip lodged against a rock and I twisted, trying to move around it, only to find myself stuck fast. Panic surged. With a soft cry, I raised Amaya and hit the obstruction as hard as I could with her hilt. The rock shattered like glass, spraying needle-sharp shards into the darkness and sending me sprawling forward. I landed on my knees—hard—and stayed there for several seconds, ignoring pain and gasping for breath as I scanned the ink and tried to get some idea of where I was. There was a sense of vastness to this place, which suggested the fissure had given way to something a lot bigger than the cavern I’d been in before.
Only trouble was, I wasn’t alone.
And there was an odd sort of consciousness in the air, a dark energy that thrummed around me even as the stone under my knees beat with faint life.
The house of their god, I suddenly realized, and wondered if I’d run from the frying pan only to step into the fire.
I swallowed heavily and pushed to my feet. There were no stalactites here to light the way, so I swept Amaya in front of me to feel for obstructions. The knowledge that someone was near grew, until it was so thick and sharp it flayed my skin.
“So,” the exotic Rakshasa said, her words soft but seeming to reverberate through the darkness, “you bear a dark sword. This is the power I sensed earlier.”
I stopped and raised Amaya. Her chant no longer raced across the edges of my mind, but her energy still burned within me. “It’s a power that will kill you all if you do not let me go.”
“No matter what weapon you bear, you are, in the end, flesh and blood. All we have to do is keep attacking. Once your life blood has soaked the stone and fed the god beneath our feet, we will dine on your flesh.”
Something hit my right calf, and tiny teeth sliced deep. I yelped and jumped away, and the snake hissed. I swung Amaya, but didn’t hit anything. Damn it, I needed to see to be able to fight. I was all but blind, and relying on scent and sound just wasn’t good enough. Not when these creatures made little sound and had no scent.
One, came Amaya’s whisper, become.
I frowned, not sure what she meant. Static rolled through my mind, a sound of frustration if ever I’d heard it.
Open, she growled, join you.
Meaning she wanted me to open myself fully to her? Wanted me to allow her—a demon spirit encased in steel—free rein to run through me? Control me?
