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He shifts his stance and time slows to a crawl because I know what’s going to happen before it does. I push off the wall and magic surges through my guts as I reach for him.
Green, viscous blood is pooling across the platform. Dugald’s right foot comes down as he presses his advantage towards the stairs, but he’s stepping into one of those pools. I can see his weight shift, moving onto his forward leg.
His foot touches down and his weight comes onto it as he leans into a forward thrust of the sword. The sword drives through the guts of a demon and emerges from that one’s back to pierce the neck of the one behind.
Dugald’s weight presses down on his front leg and his foot finds no traction in the blood. It slips and his leg extends further forward. Too far forward.
The grimace of pain on his serene face blossoms like a flower opening to the morning sun. His mouth drops open. His balance gone as he tries to find purchase, but the leg continues sliding until he is doing an impromptu split.
Time rushes forward, catching up with itself. The demons don’t hesitate. Seemingly endless in their number as they pile down the stairs. They look almost like a black mass of random arms, teeth, a rolling ball of horror.
As Dugald drops they tower over him. He raises his sword, crying out in pain, and then they fall onto him. He’ll be crushed at the very least and there is no doubt those teeth and claws will shred him.
“No!” I scream.
I’m not going to lose him too. I thrust my hand forward, instinctively willing magic to protect him. Right as he disappears from sight, buried under the writhing bodies of the demons, I see and feel a shell surround him.
My awareness of that magical shell is not a feeling, but almost is. In a way I feel the press of the bodies crawling over it even as I back away from the ones who are climbing over the horde to come for me. I have my palm open on my extended arm and in my mind, I’m envisioning the shield. It’s a strain, the weight of bodies and the claws tearing at the shield wear at me almost as if they are tearing at my flesh.
I have to stop this. Now.
I snap my hand closed into a tight fist and thrust it into the sky. The shield expands in time with the closing of my hand. Demons are thrown off Dugald and many fall over the edge. Their screams fill the air then fade as they disappear into the darkness.
Dugald leaps up, sword flashing as he swings a wide arc. Demonic heads are separated from their bodies, and between one heartbeat and the next the platform is empty. As the rush of adrenaline drops away the odor of death and decay causes me to choke and I wretch.
“You okay?” Dugald asks, moving to my side.
“Me?” I ask, holding the shawl over my nose which makes it easier to breathe. “What about you?”
“I’m fine, but we need to move.”
As if in assent to that thought Duncan screams. The pain and anguish in his voice causes cold chills to race over my skin. Gritting my teeth, I nod agreement. Dugald takes my hand and leads the way to the stairs.
We walk carefully because the platform is littered with parts of demons and blood, making the passage across it treacherous. My foot slips once but I catch myself and Dugald steadies me, then we’re on the steps, which are every bit as dangerous.
I keep my eyes on the opening above us. I’m surprised no more monstrosities are awaiting or attacking. It feels like a trap, but even if it is, what else can we do? Go back? Give up? This is my one hope to save Duncan and the world.
Dugald stops, crouching on the stairs. I wait for him to do whatever he’s doing. He rises slowly until he can peek over the edge. He drops back down, and his face is grim. He locks his eyes onto mine with a deep frown, then shakes his head.
“What?”
“Are you ready to fight?”
“I am,” I say with a certainty that comes from deep within.
Dugald closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then nods.
“I love you, Quinn,” he says. “And I will do everything possible to save Duncan. For you.”
His words are a sharp knife slicing with a precise and delicate cut right into my heart, bypassing any emotional armor I’ve built. They’re raw and honest. Full of all the emotions he’s carried for me over lifetimes where, for me, those past lives are all dim ideas, not even real enough to call a memory.
“Thank you,” I say, and the depth and truth in those two words pours out of my soul. The connection between the two of us is as deep and real as I could ever imagine it being.
Dugald nods, tightens his grip on his sword, then turns towards the opening, still in a crouch. When he moves it’s like he’s a panther, bursting into a run after its prey. Wind brushes my face in his passage as I scramble to follow his unexpected rush of speed.
As I emerge from the stairwell my stomach drops, and my chest constricts. I thought the demons were true horror, but little did I know they were but a preview of this.
The roof of the tower is a writhing mass of demonic creatures. As varied as the different Fae I’ve met, each one somehow more horrific than the last. Towering over all of them are three creatures that must each be eight feet tall. Those three are creatures of fire and darkness, roiling together with massive horns that protrude from either side of their heads. They have human faces but no nose. When they open their mouths it’s like gazing into an active volcano. Their eyes are bright, glowing a sickly green, and have a disturbing look of intelligence.
