Devil's Punch

monster roared in outrage and spun—rather, it tried. With its legs bound, it could only hop.

We need a weapon.

She conveyed to me that her spells couldn’t kill it, only immobilize it, and they wouldn’t last forever. I skimmed the walls and found a spear with a broken haft at the far corner, presumably left from another match. There were bloodstains in here and bits of debris. Urgency sent me sprinting across as the monster struggled with the dispersing magick. With a scream of rage, it chased me blindly. I zigzagged as much as the small space permitted, and it couldn’t hear or smell well enough to place me.

I snagged the weapon on the run, and splintered wood gouged my palms. Ignoring the pain, I doubled back and came in low. As Ninlil chanted up another blindness spell, I struck, stabbing the thing up through the groin. Its claws came down, and only the demon queen saved me from complete evisceration. With her preternatural reflexes, I twirled and took the blow down my right side. Blood gushed from both wounds, the monster’s and mine, but I hadn’t killed it.

Join with me, she whispered. Some of yours, some of mine. We are stronger together. If you fall here, Binder, your companions die as well.

No. But the refusal felt shaky. The demon queen withdrew, leaving me to my own devices. Fear streamed through me like whitewater rapids, drowning me. My wound throbbed twice as hard, twice as hot, and my whole body trembled.

I slid sideways, but not in time to avoid a blow on the backswing. She made me absorb the full impact, and I tumbled backward ten feet, landing hard on my injured side. The Saremon crowd shrieked, scenting blood. They thought I was done.

We’ll both die, she said. Is that what you want?

Do something about those claws. I’ll…think about it.

Ninlil’s agreement came at once. Cloudbind.

Then she was speaking the words, driving the magick, as I surged to my feet with renewed energy. Lowering my head to charge, I wheeled toward the beast with a feint and wrested my broken weapon from its crotch. I screamed as I pulled because the motion wrenched my wounded side, and the monster raked at me, but its claws were covered in darklight that offered a magickal buffer. The blunt trauma hurt like hell and I saw stars, but at least it didn’t take my head off. Another hit like that, though, and I was done.

Let me in, or we both fall. Last chance, Corine Solomon. Even my power is not infinite. Will you let them die of your fear, your weakness?

Oh, no. Chance. Greydusk. Shannon. At last, my will chipped away, I accepted the unthinkable bargain. Yes. Do it.

The queen threw her strength into mine, and we merged. I had all her experience, all her power at my fingertips, and the spear pulled free in a bloody fountain. Ichor spewed from the wound. Again, I thought, and I drove the weapon into the vein on the creature’s thigh. It could die. It would die. Even with my wounds, riding the royal aura, I spun away from the injured beast. I came up behind it and stabbed twice more. Back of the thigh. Hamstring. Its chest was too armored for me to penetrate, but it was softer down low. Its sight came back too late. I stabbed. Again. Again. Until it bled from ten separate wounds. The audience was screaming, but it sounded distant, as if through a wall of glass. I didn’t care. All that mattered was that this thing died.

Final thrust.

I hit a vein and the black blood spurted like oil, slicking the stone beneath my feet. The monster staggered, moaning, a piteous sound, but there was no kindness in me. I was the demon queen, and I had risen.

No Mercy

There was no time to rest.

They’d arrive soon to escort me back to my cell and then kill my companions. That meant I had to be ready to fight. I had magick to spare; it coiled, lustrous, around my hands like a drowsy snake. I didn’t posture for the surprised crowd, most of whom had expected to watch me die. Instead I ran like hell for the doors where I’d come in. I didn’t expect to break them down. But they had to come and get me, didn’t they? I smiled in delicious anticipation. I whispered the words in demontongue that cloaked me in living darkness, a shield against the suckerpunch of a spell Oz had dropped on me before.

He wouldn’t get lucky again.

The Saremon were weak. They’d relied on lazy tricks for too many centuries, being too much mage and not enough demon. I would destroy them all.

A voice boomed. “Stand back from the doors.”

Like that’s going to work.

When they banged open, ten Saremon grunts awaited me. Unfortunately, they couldn’t find me for the dark fog filling the corridor with every step I took. I laughed softly, seductively, and they spun. I whispered and trailed another spell into the air as gracefully as if I had been born for this moment.

The mania set in at once. One guard grabbed another, and the second retaliated. They swung their weapons in a blood-frenzied madness. I picked a path through the carnage like the ballerina of death, and then paused on the other side to watch. Perfect. They fought until one by one, they all hit the ground. Smiling, I twirled my broken spear and retraced my steps toward the cell where they’d put my people.

Darkness drifted in my wake as the spell died away. Footsteps pounded the halls, but they came from some distance away, guards from the other entrance. It would be too late for them to catch me and once I had reinforcements, we would level this place. There would be nothing left of the Saremon caste when I finished here. For good reason, they’d feared my coming, but when they interfered with my destiny and harmed one of my blood, they sealed their fate. Excitement quickened my steps. The sooner I released Chance and Greydusk, the sooner my vengeance could begin.

I passed a number of cells; some held occupants. With a flick of my wrist, I called the sleepy demon magick that sang in my ears like ocean. It was…lovely. For the first time in my life, I felt whole. The darklight drifted into the locks and turned the tumblers. Beautiful sound, freedom. The doors popped open and the prisoners of the Saremon stepped out into the hallways, some injured, some fearful, others bristling with wrath. As one, they stopped. Stared. And they fell to their knees en masse. It was good they recognized me, for I had been gone a long while.

“You know me?” I said.

“Yes, my queen.” The awed chorus sent a pleased shiver down my spine.

“You have my leave to demolish this place. Your enemy is the Saremon. Their whole caste has become Xaraz.” In those words, I exiled the mages of Saremon, stripped them of rights and rank. Henceforth, they would be reviled and driven beyond the Vortex to cower in the shantytown with the other wretches. “Kill as many as you please, so long as they are Saremon. Touch no others inside these walls. If they are not Saremon, they belong to me.”

The assembled host whispered, reverently, “Yes, my queen.”

“Afterward, carry the message to the rest of Xibalba that I am ascended. Go. Do my will.”

And they did.

I continued down the hall to where they had confined Chance and Greydusk. The door stood open, but they did not emerge. If Oz had kept his word, they had not been tampered with, which meant they were still bound. I stepped into the cell.

“You’re alive,” Chance breathed. And then he froze, cocking his head. Sorrow surged from him in a tangible wave, so thick I could taste it. “You—you’re—”

“My queen,” Greydusk supplied in an awed whisper.

I inclined my head. It was not the time to talk about such things. I knelt and cut their bonds. With a whispered command, I made the dampener drop off the Imaron’s wrist. The demon rubbed his arm in quiet gratitude.

“We should get the hell out of here,” Chance said, low.