already darted back into the air. It hovered near the ceiling, willing to wait for another opportunity.
'Feeeeed,' it hissed at him.
Cale's fury propelled him forward. Feeling nothing but hate, he walked resolutely toward Yrsillar. He felt apart from himself, numb, as though he were watching the scene unfold from above. With each row of pews that he passed, his anger increased. Yrsillar's veins pulsed faster, his claws opening and closing in reflexive anticipation.
Undeterred, Cale's hate demanded that he advance. His walk turned to a run, his run to a charge. Yrsillar crouched on his powerful legs and held his claws out wide.
As Cale closed the last few strides, he held his blade high and shouted years of pent-up rage into the rafters, sent a lifetime of self-loathing careening into the nothingness of the Abyss. Yrsillar answered with a terrible roar so full of malice that it would have blown Cale to his knees but for his forward momentum.
Only then, in that final moment, did it occur to Cale that Mask had long ago made the first concession, had made two, in fact-the darkness back in the real shrine, and the-golden aura that protected him now.
Too late, he realized, as he bent against the demon lord's roar like a man in a snowstorm. He would have to stand or fall on his own.
Yrsillar made no move to retreat, he merely crouched and held his claws at the ready, a giant predator awaiting its prey. His veins bulged beneath his skin, tracks of livid, sickening purple.
Cale lunged forward and swung his blade toward Yrsillar's chest in a vicious upward are, the stroke so powerful that it cut through the air with a whistle.
As fast as a hunting cat, the huge demon bounded back a step and hopped atop the dais. Cale pursued, reversed his stroke, and chopped downward. Impossibly fast, Yrsillar jerked back. Gale's long sword rang sparking off the altar block.
Little more than a gray blur, a claw streaked for Gale's throat. Using the altar as cover, he dropped beneath the blow and slashed upward with his long sword. The blade cut a swath through empty air. Yrsillar's arm had arced before Cale ever got his blade into position. He jumped back to his feet, held the long sword before him like a pike and lunged over the altar for the demon lord's chest.
Yrsillar swooped up and under with one of his claws. Caught in mid-lunge, Gale's momentum prevented a dodge. Golden light flashed brightly as his
protective spell flared out of existence. The power of the spell seared Yrsillar's flesh but the demon lord did not recoil. Cale whiffed the meaty odor of charred skin. The powerful, dagger-length daws tore through Gale's cloak and split his leather armor from abdomen to throat. A shallow gash opened along his entire torso. The blow stunned him. Warm blood coursed from the wound. Without the protective spell, his soul began to seep from his body/Unable to defend himself, he reeled on the altar, an ironic offering to Mask awaiting the sacrificial knife.
Yrsillar roared, balled his hand, and drove his fist into Gale's chest.
The blow crashed down on Cale with the force of a maul.
Cale careened backward off the altar awl flew through the air, arms flailing. Only the remnant of his enchanted leather armor kept his ribs from shattering.
He crashed four rows deep among the pews and collapsed in an awkward heap of bones and wood. His sword flew from his grasp and clattered away.
Battered and gasping for breath, he knew then that he was a dead man. He had failed Thazienne, had failed Mask, had failed himself. Yrsillar would finish him before he drew another breath.
The shadow demon swooped for Jak. Ready, and still clutching his holy symbol, Jak spat the magical words to a spell, '/rare luxos,' and pointed at the diving demon.
Instantly, a glaring light flared in the demon's eyes, turned the milky-white orbs into glowing opals. Blinded in the middle of its headlong descent, it clawed wildly at its face and tried to pull up.
Nimbly leaping pews, Jak dived to the side as the enraged creature crashed to the floor and sent pews flying. Still hissing in anger, it climbed to its feet and flailed about with its daws in a mad effort to locate him.
Teed on you,' it hissed, enraged. 'Feed.'
It swept wide arcs with its daws. Jak scrambled over and under the pews to avoid its reach, but it pressed him relentlessly. His spell would last for hours, but he would run out of room to run long before that.
The shadow* demon sniffed at the air as it lashed about, tike a vile hound searching for the scent trail. Jak knew that despite its blindness it could somehow sense him. He had been invisible in the Soargyl bedroom and still one had sniffed him out. He kept moving, dodging over and under pews.
It stayed on him, always one step behind, but never giving him time to plan a course of action. Jak could sense its hunger for him. It hissed and beat its wings in angry frustration. Purple veins pulsed beneath leathery skin. Its rancid-meat smell made Jak want to gag, but he dared not make a sound. He hid behind a pew, gasping, mind racing, and tried to think.
He dared not close to attack, even from the rear. An inadvertent strike by one of the enraged demon's claws would dispel his protective aura. He could cast the same spell again, of course, but that would take time. Time that he wouldn't have if he were in hand-to-hand combat with the demon. If he went too long without the protective spell, the plane would kill him.
'Feed. Feeeed.'
It dosed on him He readied himself and pulled two of his throwing daggers free.
Might as well see if plain steel can hurt it in this form, he thought. He touched each blade to his luck-stone, raised his arm, threw, and darted away.
When the demon erupted in a pained squeal, Jak smiled. Thank you, Lady, he thought to Tymora. The blades had struck home.
Feed on that, wretch, he thought with a grin.
Teeed on you, little creature. Feeeed.'
Leaping behind another pew, Jak placed his holy symbol in his belt pouch and jerked another dagger free of its sheath. Pumped full of adrenaline, and focused only on the demon, he suddenly felt no fear. The realization changed him. He had been frightened only moments before and he remembered being utterly terrified back at the Soargyls the last time he had faced one of these creatures.
I'm getting more like Gale every daAbruptly, the demon's hissing ceased and gave way to a series of softly muttered words. Jak didn't recognize the language, but he recognized the intonation and cadence of spellcasting.
By the gods, spells?
He peeked over the pew.
The opalescent glow had vanished from the demon's eyes. The creature had dispelled Jak's cantrip, and now it could see him. Its milky white eyes instantly discovered him.
It stalked forward, wings beating.
'Dark,' Jak oathed.
He rose from behind the pew, dagger and short sword ready. The demon's hunger hit him tike a bitter wind, but he vowed not to give in to fear, vowed to give this demonic bastard the fight of its life. The last time he had faced one of these creatures, he'd frozen up, humiliated himself by wetting his pants.
'Not this time,' he promised himself.
'Come on,' he said through fritted teeth, and beckoned it forward with his bWe*At that moment, a victorious roar from the front of the shrine jerked his head around. He watched as Yrsillar swiped a daw through Gale's midsection, followed by a crushing blow to the chest that sent his Mend flailing through toe air to crash among the front rowsofpews^
'Caler
The shadow demon took advantage of Jak's lapse and leaped forward, quick as an adder to strike the little man.
Though the strength behind the daw nearly knocked the blade from His fist, Jak managed a parry with his dagger, A second claw rake followed. Jak leaped backward out of range then immediately lunged forward with his short sword. He was too slow. The demon backed off in a crouch and hissed, its claws weaving hypnotically through the air.
Jak saw his death in those daws. The demon was too fast, and when it hit him, his protective aura would flare out'Burn me,' he said, an idea dawning.
