Atop a hill on the edge of a small town there sits a lonely house with a sour aura. There you will find a man with stitches running around his neck, a chip on his shoulder, and a gun at his hip. If you have dallied in the dark, played with demons, o...
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Before the shock could wear off, Ichabod jumped into the car, tossing the shotgun onto the backseat, he intended to climb back with it, only for Della to practically tackle him down and slam the door behind her. Toulon hardly waited and put the car into gear, peeling away as they tried to untangle themselves. The pair ended with Ichabod in Della's lap and her arms wrapped around him for safety as much as her own amusement.
"We need to go back to the house," Ichabod told their driver while Della giggled in his ear.
"Oh, you're welcome by the way," the scarecrow scoffed incredulously.
"Toulon..." he sighed in return, "I swear to God, when this is all over I will sit down and talk to you about 'Your' problems, in the meantime, can we please focus on the fact that we're all about to die?!"
"Yes sir," the scarecrow responded in a well chastened voice and diverted his attention back to the path he was cutting through the foliage.
Their pursuers were not silent as they made their escape, and they did not abide waiting. While their leader continued to struggle against the spike imbedded in his skull, the ones standing away made a beeline for the car and those in its path simply strengthened their stance, bracing for impact. One, an over large beast with thorns on its shoulders, assumed a three-point stance and attempted to blunt their getaway by charging them down. This problem was solved, however, when Ichabod aimed a gun out of the passenger side window and shot the creature in the face, forcing it to collapse and setting it up for another of Toulon's magnificent leaps. The fender of the old AMC Gremlin struck the demon in its gut, splattering it, bone blood and all, even as it jerked back and set wheels upon the monster's thick and durable legs allowing it to create a lopsided flight into the air. It cleared the line of waiting enemies almost entirely, landing hard and sideways on the last few that stood in its way before fishtailing back towards Crowley manor.
Back in the Glade
Pazrael finally freed himself from the wretched agony, gasping with relief as he ripped the diffusion prong from his eye. He stood, regal, for a moment, and watched, with his one good eye, the taillights of the car disappear into the dark forest, before allowing himself to collapse to a knee. Even with the spike gone, the wound it had made was yet to heal and he could still feel the metal slugs lodged in his torso, ripping him open, grinding his soul apart into a shower of sparks. Gritting his teeth beneath the metal mask, he reached into the bullet holes and tried to pull them out while a winged demon landed by his side, laying a comforting hand to his shoulder.
"Sire," there was a slight roughness to her voice which did nothing to belay the concern she obviously felt, "Are you well sire? Are you injured?"
