Lord of the Night

Chapter 12: Betrayal

In the flooded hallway, two more Demons appeared.

Despite my terrible odds, I apparently held one advantage—neither of them appeared to expect a Guardian to run toward them at this juncture in the battle. Their claws and fangs had already subsided, and their mouths hung open, staring at me. Before they could recover, my mace slammed into the side of the first Demon's head.

My first opponent dropped fast, but by the time I whipped the mace around, the second was ready. The second Demon dodged the mace and danced into a fighting position. Fangs emerged from its gums and claws from its fingers like knives slicing through butter.

A claw slashed toward me, and I stumbled back a step. My soaked boots squelched, and my breaths rasped. I whipped the mace around, but the Demon ducked. As the mace flew over its head, its claw swiped my chest. The razor-claws sliced several through the thick wool. Though the sharp sting barely drew blood, the reminder of the fate I could so easily face tensed my muscles still further.

When the Demon's other claw seized my arm, I ripped the maced through the air with a speed I didn't know I was capable of. The monster's skull caved inward with an alarming crack and slosh like stomping through a moldy log.

I didn't wait for the Demon to hit the ground. My feet carried me onward, somehow certain I would find a way to fight back properly if I could reach the control room. The control room was no magic fix, but the frequent gatherings there allegedly provided some kind of additional deterrent against Demons. And some part of me felt that if I could find the Leader I admired and the friend I had betrayed, I could somehow halt the impossible destruction ravaging our base and decimating our team.

When I rounded a corner, I spotted the door to the control room...and heard more Demons approaching. I spurred myself to move even faster. Just before the Demons could see me, I yanked open the door, slipped inside, and tugged it shut behind me.

For a second, relief flooded me. Ahead of me, both Rakimar and Borgal appeared unharmed. However, my relief fled as quickly as it had come. Rakimar's eyes flitted to meet mine and widened. Some kind of warning twisted her lips, but before she could utter a word, Borgal slipped up behind her and pressed a blade against her throat.

A split second of indecision froze me in place. And before I could cry out, run forward, or flee, Borgal's blade ripped through Rakimar's throat.

No.

No, no, no.

Borgal wouldn't do that. I couldn't be seeing things right. That geyser of red spurting from Rakimar couldn't possibly be real.

I didn't tell my body to move, but my hand somehow landed on the doorknob. A second later, I found myself on the other side of the door, staring down the stretch of hallway before me.

Staring down the approaching Demons.

There were five, this time. In the flickering, rain-blurred lamplight, their grins appeared cartoonishly ghastly. Through the tinny ringing in my ears, I struggled to decipher their voices.

"Well, what do we have here? I thought the rest of the Guardians ran away."

"This Guardian just saw something he shouldn't have seen. Fortunately, dead Guardians don't speak."

"I'll enjoy draining this one. Can you smell his lifeforce? Delicious."

My heart pumped too fast, filling my throat with viscous blood. I raised the mace in front of me, but it slipped from my trembling grasp. My weapon splashed into the water at my feet and whisked away in the current.

The closest Demon sprang toward me.

His claws hooked into my arm, and pain flashed whitehot to every nerve ending. Still, my brain remained alarmingly detached. Even as terror and agony consumed me, I watched it all happen like an ambivalent bystander. My thoughts remained in the control room.