Taming Demons for Beginners (The Guild Codex: Demonized #1)(72)

“Surrige,” I declared.

An invisible force caught the nearest contractor and lifted him off his feet. As he flailed in confusion, his demon halted all movement.

Zylas dove under the immobile demon. Lunging for their adversary, the other three bowled over their ally, and Zylas wheeled toward the four contractors, his tail snapping out for balance. The two champions rushed forward to intercept him, one with a shining broadsword and the other with a pair of small but terrifying battle axes.

The swordsman slapped a hand to his blade and the earth trembled with his magic. The other pointed an axe and shouted an incantation.

I thrust my arm out. “Ventos!”

My second rune flashed and wind erupted, buffeting the champions and whipping grit in their faces. The gust scarcely made them stumble, but it created the distraction Zylas needed.

The sorcerer’s spell missed him by inches. The spiral of burgundy power hit the pavement and exploded in a wave that covered everything nearby in a glistening layer of … something. Shouting furiously, the terramage whipped his sword out, and the earth split open in front of him—but Zylas had already leaped. He slammed into the mage, plowing him into the ground as his claws flashed.

The demons were moving again, all four barreling toward Zylas and the two—now one—champions.

I swung my hand toward them. “Nebu—”

Amalia grabbed my shirt and yanked me backward. A dart of searing hot magic grazed my shoulder as a spell whipped past me—launched by the axe-wielding champion.

“Nebulam!” I yelled as fast as I could get the word out.

The largest cantrip on my arm flickered and a hazy mist rose off the ground, billowing around us. The last thing I saw was Zylas turning on the remaining champion as four demons charged him. Mythic and demon forms blurred in the fog.

A scream rang out. Metal clanged. Another cry of agony.

The fog cantrip was already fading, too small and weak to last against the sea breeze. Shadowy shapes reappeared—a pair of unmoving demon statues, and the two demons still in battle, controlled by the last survivors. Zylas was a lethal blur darting among them, glowing magic dancing over his hands.

Dh’ērrenith, he would’ve called this moment. Assured victory.

“Watch out!” Amalia yelled.

I whirled around. Karlson, the short Red Rum leader, came at me with a silver knife in his fist. I lurched backward, my hand flashing up, a bloody rune drawn on my palm.

“Impello!” I cried.

The invisible push spell hit him and he staggered, the blade knocked from his grasp. He paused, his eyes burning with fury, then extended his empty palm, concentration hardening his jaw.

A steel battle axe appeared in his hand.

He stepped forward, the blade gleaming. It was the champion’s axe. Somehow, the fallen champion’s weapon was now in Karlson’s hands—and he was almost on top of me, the deadly edge angled toward my body.

“Stop your demon,” he spat. “Now!”

Another scream split the air—the last contractor dying. Karlson’s gaze darted to the bloody battlefield, and I saw the decision in his eyes. No demon was worth his life. He was going to kill me to stop Zylas.

His other hand opened and a second battle axe appeared in his grip. He swung the weapons up and I stumbled back, too close, too clumsy—

He jerked convulsively. His face went slack, then he pitched forward. His weapons hit the ground with clangs that echoed in the sudden quiet. Travis stood behind the collapsed man, holding a blood-splattered rock. He stared at Karlson, his face white.

Ten yards away, Zylas stood alone, surrounded by his fallen enemies. All the demons had disappeared, their contractors dead, and blood had turned the musty concrete into a macabre painting. Zylas was splattered all over.

My stomach squirmed and I looked away. So much death. So many lives ended. Numbness spread through me, and I didn’t know what to feel. Should I have felt anything else besides the relief coursing through me?

Tail swishing, Zylas hopped across the battlefield. When he’d cleared the bodies, his gait shifted to a dangerous prowl, gaze fixed on Travis.

“Well, payilas?” he crooned as Travis’s expression slackened with terror. “Should I kill this one too?”

I studied Travis, who clutched his rock like it might save him. Amalia gave me a pleading, desperate look.

Briefly closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. “Zylas, I think enough people have died already.”

“Mercy is for the weak, payilas.”

“The weak can’t afford mercy.” I met his eyes. “I think we can.”

He stared at me, then grimaced—his favorite “you’re so dumb you don’t even make sense” grimace. I rolled my eyes. Looking like he could hardly believe his luck, Travis cleared his throat to speak, then changed his mind. We stood mutely, silenced by the trauma and violence we’d survived.

“We should leave,” Amalia suggested.

Travis nodded eagerly. “I have a car parked on the street. This way.”

Together, the three of us started across the lot, leaving the massacre and Red Rum’s burning boat behind. Zylas trailed after us, rubbing at the blood on his hands with his nose wrinkled in disgust. As we passed the bumper of an abandoned tractor-trailer, the three of us stopped abruptly. A road ran alongside the concrete lot, and directly ahead, a black car with tinted windows idled at the curb.