Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians #1)(86)

Oh God, please don’t let it eat me alive.

I hear Jerif snarling and fighting somewhere behind me, but I’m too terrified to look away from the huge demon sitting on top of me to see if help is on the way.

“Mmm, delicious,” the pterodactyl demon declares, his voice too Mike Tyson for his size. I didn’t know this thing could talk, but that just makes it all the more terrifying. “The Ophidian wants you.”

My entire body is trembling. I can’t even feel the individual beats of my heart anymore because it’s thrumming too quickly. “The Ophidian?” I have no fucking idea what that is, but the name sends ice down my spine, holding me rigid with frozen fear.

The demon’s wrinkled gray cheeks pull back on either side of its beak in its own version of an eerie grin. “The Ophidian will be pleased with me for bringing you.”

A sudden sound of a high-pitched screech gives me pause, and rational thought sucker punches past my overwhelming fear. I buck my hips, but this demon is too big to really allow for much movement beneath it. By some miracle, another demon trips into us, and the pterodactyl-orc loses its balance. It snarls at the demon, who immediately scrambles away from us, but the second the orc thing on top of me is distracted, I strike. It doesn’t see my punch to its throat coming.

The demon lists even more to the side as I land another hit right to its creepy eye, and then I’m able to kick it off and crawl painfully out from under it. I can tell I’m hurt in a things are broken kind of way, but it seems adrenaline is my friend right now.

I push to my hands and knees, and a surge of shock flies through me when I spot my scythe on the ground a few feet away. I scramble to it, not even caring that jagged rocks slice into my palms and knees. I just barely clamp my palm around the shaft of the weapon when something grabs my leg and yanks me back.

I squeeze my scythe in my palm, shoring my grip, and swing as hard as I can. Relief wraps me up in a warm blanket as the curved blade of my scythe connects with the demon who grabbed me, immediately destroying it. I don’t get a chance to get to my feet before another one is on me, but I make quick work of this one too.

I hear Jerif scream, but this time it’s not filled with promises of pain and brutal retribution, this scream is anguished.

Terror pumps through my veins as I play ’ey batta batta with the demons trying to surround me. Through nothing but pure determination, I manage to get to my feet. There are so many faces rushing at me, none of them looking remotely human, that I can’t even make out what’s around me other than what feels like a swarm closing in on me.

Ophidian. Take her. Get her to The Ophidian.

I hear the cluster growling and clicking, their words garbled as they all speak about taking me, my surroundings a cloud of ash as I keep attacking and taking them out.

Jerif bellows again, and the need to get to him grips me, body and soul. I can’t let fear stop me, so even though I want to run away and hide, I surge forward, trying to get to him. I scythe demons left and right, clearing a path in the direction of where it sounds like Jerif’s screams are coming from.

I have no idea where the other guys are, and I’m shaky with fear and adrenaline, but I don’t think anyone is coming for us, so it’s up to me. My weapon is the only thing that keeps me from being overwhelmed by Outer Ringers who keep trying to snatch me. I wonder if anyone is trying to take the guys too or if their agenda is to end them instead. My jaw sets with determination. I’ll just have to take out as many as I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.

After ashing dozens more of them, I continue to push my way through the overwhelming crowd, and the horde surrounding me begins to hesitate. It seems they’ve smartened up, and they’re second guessing about how wise it is to keep rushing at me.

I’m panting, covered in ash, blood, and sweat. I blow the hair out of my face and turn in a circle, gripping my scythe. “If you hurt my demons, I will fucking kill you all,” I promise through haggard breaths.

I feel murderous. Violent. Black ink bleeds into my vision as I’m filled with all-encompassing rage, and I don’t care how outnumbered or inexperienced I am, I will dust all these fuckers if Jerif and the others are dead.

I push through, swinging the scythe and feeling buoyant with satisfaction when they back away with growls and squeals, but another group of demons shoves ahead in challenge. “Get her!”

Poof. I swing the scythe like a bat, smacking right into the demon who issued the order.

Three more go down right after him, and that seems to scare some, because a good number of them suddenly launch into the air and take off.

With the pathway somewhat clear, I can just make out a circle of demons surrounding the lava asshole that I just swore I’d protect at all costs. I’m so relieved to see that Jerif’s still standing, albeit shakily, that I rush forward, ashing four more Outer Ringers who close in on me and try to keep me from seeing what’s going on.

Through a gray cloud, I watch as several demons in the circle around Jerif go up in flames. But just as he’s burning some of his attackers, others swoop in and slash at him. The blades they’re using are as long as my arm. They’re black and shiny, like they’re made out of jewels instead of metal.

Jerif is stabbed again when a demon lands on his back, and another pain-filled cry pours out of his mouth as he goes down on one knee. He’s already bloody, exhausted, and wounded in multiple places. Even his flames are starting to sputter, as he only tosses out small spheres of fire that don’t even come close to landing on any of his assailants.