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Searing, hot pain shoots from my back to the front. My lungs feel heavy with every breath I take and I feel as if though I’m not getting enough oxygen. Life giving liquid spills out of me, almost as if it’s urgently looking for another host able to sustain it now that I’m broken and on my way to the land of the dead. My shirt and pants are soaked through. What little strength I had dwindles, shortening my lifespan.
Unable to withstand the weight of my own body, I crumple to the floor in a heap. I lay there, writhing in agony, as chaos erupts all around me. The small, outdated library room, which was so quiet and neatly organized in spite of the multilayers of dust on every solid surface, has now become a battleground for things that go bump in the night.
Out of the corner of my eye, I make out a large, skeletal figure on the other side of the room, dodging a series of magical attacks. I’m not familiar with this species of demon so I don’t have a name to associate with the large, emaciated creature with a pair of long horns that exit the sides of its oversized head and wrap around the back where tip meets tip.
I’m unable to see Mason or Atys. I’m in too much pain to move so I don’t even try to locate either of them, but I’m regrettably missing the feel of the Soul Broker’s glove-clad hand. It was the only sense of security I had right up until the moment when we were attacked, leaving me in this life or death struggle for survival.
A Nightcrawler picks its way toward me through the large pieces of furniture sporadically sprawled across the room. It’s large, shadowy form hulking in size from my vantage point—lying on the floor looking up at those piercing red eyes, which I’m sure causes the devil himself a great deal of envy. Reeking of evil, it approaches on four large paws, all of which are larger than my head.
It can smell me, smell the blood pouring out of me and it’s going to come for me to finish the job. Like the predator it is, the Nightcrawler stalks toward me, its jaw wide open as it anticipates a taste of me before it eventually turns me in to its master.
In spite of my better judgement, I can’t seem to stop gawking at it. His presence is so commanding, fear eats away at the last thread of bravado in me and I whimper, both due to the pain and the uncertainty of what my fate holds. But as the Nightcrawler advances, a figure dashes from the shadows and stands to my right, his legs spread apart, arms arched as he aims an arrow at the approaching menace. The black and white bow he holds in his hands is engraved with an array of symbols from nock to nock. Symbols I know are meant to be used as a double hitter—meaning that not only will an arrow released from it will kill a demon, but the bow itself can be used for the same purpose.
When the Nightcrawler stands on its hind legs, to a full height of eight feet, Mason releases a black arrow. I watch as the arrow rotates and travels swiftly toward its target. During the relatively short journey, it begins to glow. A bright light spreads from the grip to the upper and lower limb. In moments the arrow is on fire, leaving barely a trace as it tracks its target and seeks refuge in the beast’s chest, right where its heart should be.
The force of the impact sends the Nightcrawler flying backward where it lands on a wooden table several feet behind. The only piece of furniture in the room still intact crumples under the weight of the massive beast and breaks into useless pieces of wood. Howling, the Nightcrawler convulses, its large extremities thrashing as the fire spreads throughout its body. In less than a second, he’s reduced to black ash.
Since Mason is a Soul Broker, I don’t know how he has weapons powerful enough to kill something like the Nightcrawler. As far as I know only a very powerful source could eliminate one of these shadowy figures and Mason is not one of them.
“Daya!” Mason drops on one knee next to me and quickly assesses my injury. The glove-clad hand inspects the wound in my abdomen, his fingers prying over skin and muscle.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I groan.
His eyes widen a bit. “Yes, it’s bad.” He shoves the bowstring over his right shoulder and head so that the belly faces away from his broad back. Hands now free, he picks me up and stands, holding me to him. “I’m getting you out of here. I should have never brought you here in the first place.”
Is that regret I hear in his voice?
“Close your eyes, Daya.” He instructs as he gazes down at me. “I’m going to get you help.”
“Why?” Having no strength to argue, I try to glare up at him, but I’m too weak to even do that. “You’ll collect your bounty if I die.”
“Just close your eyes.” Do I read sympathy in his gaze? Or is my imagination reading too much in his face? Reluctant though I am, I shut my eyes and rest my head on his right shoulder, ignoring the chaos still going on all around us. Exhausted, with no energy to keep myself awake, I concentrate on my labored breathing as darkness begins to beckon me.
In a few moments, my world finally goes dark as I slip, silently, into oblivion.