Paladin

Chapter 21 Part II

A thick ring of demons separated Braeden, Sam and Tristan from the fast approaching men, but Braeden was close enough to see that the shadows belonged to Adelard and Donnelly. The two Uriel were joined by several other men he didn’t recognize.

Adelard carried a burning torch in one hand and a maul in the other. The haft of the maul was no longer than his arm from shoulder to wrist, and the heavy hammer head bore a spike on the back end, sharp enough to pierce the toughest armor or the thickest hide. Donnelly held the other torch, and a scimitar was enclosed in his meaty fingers.

“Halt!” Adelard commanded his men. The demons halted, too, distracted by the smell of fresh prey. Their eyes -- if they had any -- darted back and forth between the two groups of humans.

Their indecision would only be fleeting, Braeden knew, before they had returned the bulk of their attentions to Sam. Even in his unenhanced state, Braeden could tell their desire for her was at its strongest. Was it because she was a woman? No, that couldn’t be it -- with the probable exception of his father, demons never exhibited libidos or showed any inclination towards one gender versus the other. Their violence was historically indiscriminate.

“Who goes there?” Adelard called.

“It’s Paladin Lyons and my trainees,” Tristan shouted back, his sword at the ready. “Where are the Paladins?”

Before Adelard could respond, the demons shook off their temporary stupor. A worm demon swung its barbed tail at Sam. She stepped aside at the last possible moment and chopped off its tail--its swollen innards exposed like a hock of ham. Sam yelped as the severed tail flailed on the ground, narrowly missing her feet, until Tristan cut it into so many pieces it resembled minced meat. “Pay attention, Sam!” he snapped.

“I AM  paying attention,” she gritted out. “I just wasn’t expecting that thing to move!”

“I don’t care what you expected. Always be aware of your surroundings. It’s a lesson you should have already learned. Now, finish off the damn thing.”

With a parting glower, Sam marched towards the amputated demon, which wriggled about drunkenly without its tail. “Stupid worm,” she muttered, and sliced its head clean off.

Braeden lost sight of Sam and Tristan as four of the creatures converged on him. Sharp teeth bit into his shoulder, and he snarled at the pain. He jammed a knife into the back of the demon’s horned head then through its mouth until the tip of the blade cut into his wounded shoulder. He pushed the blade deeper into his skin and then tore it out, flinging drops of blood at his three remaining attackers. The droplets solidified into spikes midair and sunk into the demons’ bodies. Braeden caressed his blood-drenched knife, and the blade lengthened and curved like a tiger’s claw. He slashed at their throats, their malformed heads joining the growing pile.

Braeden’s self-induced wound was already healing, but his shoulder throbbed from where teeth had punctured the skin. Saliva and gore seeped into the inches-deep tooth marks, mingling with his blood and testing his control. His vision tinged red, and the veins in his limbs filled with fluid and plumped.

But he didn’t have time to worry over his waning control. Arms sprouting thick, black fur wrapped around his torso and squeezed, crushing his ribs and pinning his hands to his sides, immobilizing him. Breaths came in short, ineffectual gasps, and his red-tinged vision threatened to fade to black.

Through drooping lids, Braeden saw Adelard crash into the circle of demons with a roar. The Uriel swung his heavy hammer with a practiced hand, bashing its blunt head into demon skull and impaling their necks with its spike.  The air reeked of scorched skin and fur while he wielded his torch like a weapon. Still, he was too far away to aid Braeden.

Before unconsciousness claimed him, Braeden let his upper body go limp and sag into his legs. He shifted his weight forward, onto his right foot, and centered his other foot in front of his attacker. Raising his left knee as high as he could, he kicked back into the demon’s hard belly.

The arms that had entrapped him slipped from his waist as the creature -- a monstrous gorilla with bovine feet -- fell backward. Braeden flexed his hands and fingers until feeling returned to them. The gorilla lunged for him, but he was quicker, lacerating its throat.

He couldn’t see Sam through the carnage. Where in the gods’ names was she? All Braeden could see were Tristan and the Uriel, who had followed Adelard into battle. Donnelly proved quick on his feet despite his size, nimble and fairly skilled with his scimitar, though he would be no match for Tristan. The rest of the men were only adequate with their weapons, but made up for it with their ardor.

“I know I said we’d see each other on the morrow, but I was hoping to meet at least after dawn,” Adelard said as he neared Tristan, batting at a demon with his maul.

“I couldn’t think of a better time to renew our acquaintance,” Tristan said drolly. “In fact, I wouldn’t have complained had you arrived even earlier.”

“We were delayed. There were a few one-off attacks in the heart of the city.”

“No matter. I’m glad for the help, though I was expecting it to come in the form of the Paladins.” 

Adalard looked at him sideways. “Pirama learned not to rely on the Paladins months ago.”

Braeden moved toward the two men until he was in earshot. “Have you seen Sam?”

Tristan froze. “I thought he was with you.”

“No,” Braeden said grimly. He brought the tip of his curved blade to his breastbone.

“What are you doing?” Tristan cried.

The world went crimson as his blade burrowed into his heart. “Finding Sam.”