Standing safely behind their lieutenants, Xever smirked. “You’ve shown remarkable restraint, Enéas. Still hoping to plead not guilty to the charges?”
Ezra spun his blades. “Is that what you think?”
Xever’s eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth—
A vampire lieutenant’s chest exploded.
The gunshot rang painfully in my ears as the vampire keeled over. With a shimmer of light, Girard appeared on my left, pistol still aimed at the vampire. Alistair rippled into view, his staff in hand and blood all over his shirt. And between the two, Darius appeared.
He no longer held his silver daggers. Instead, he gripped the long handle of a huge silver war hammer, the heavy end resting on the ground in front of him. But it wasn’t just any war hammer—it was the one that normally hung above my bar.
When the hell had he gotten hold of that? Had Girard and Alistair brought it? I’d thought they were down for the count!
“Xanthe.” Darius’s voice cut like blades of ice. “Xever. When you decided to destroy my guild, you should’ve considered who you were challenging.”
Even blinded, Xanthe curled her upper lip. “Is that so? You—”
Darius didn’t wait for her to finish. He swung the hammer up and slammed it into the ground.
Grayish sparks burst from the point of impact and a wave of concussive force rocketed outward, hurling the enemy group off their feet.
Ezra, Aaron, and Kai charged for the fallen cultists. Darius heaved the war hammer to Alistair, who caught it one-handed, the thick muscles in his bare arms bunching. He dropped his staff, took a two-handed grip on the hammer’s handle, and launched forward with Girard on his heels.
Darius drew his two backup daggers and vanished from sight.
I flipped the Carapace’s hood up, adjusted my grip on my borrowed katana, and ran straight into the melee. Fire, wind, lightning, shaking earth, spewing lava. The silver hammer swung down and crushed a werewolf beneath it.
As their lieutenants fought and died, Xever backed away, Xanthe clinging to his arm.
Launching in front of a spell a cultist had fired at Kai, I rushed through the battling mythics and monsters. No one could touch me—or stop me—and I burst out the other side. Flipping the cloak open to free my arm, I pointed my katana at the two cult leaders.
Xever smiled coldly, and crimson light flashed on his chest. The infernus hanging around his neck glowed—and red power streaked from across the battlefield and struck the pendant. It filled the silver disc, then burst out again.
Nazhivēr took form in front of me.
On the plus side, he wasn’t looking too great—bleeding gashes raked his limbs and one of his wings had a long tear in the membrane. On the downside, I was now facing a demon all by myself.
Clutching my sword, I lunged at the demon.
He slid aside with inhuman speed and swung at my head. His fist slowed as though he were trying to punch me through ever-thickening mud and came to a halt without ever touching me.
I slashed the sword down his immobile arm.
As thick demon blood splattered from the new wound, the demon’s other hand snapped closed around my wrist—the one sticking out from the Carapace’s folds and very much not invincible.
Nazhivēr wrenched me off my feet. The cloak flapped open, exposing me to attack.
Gasping, I grabbed the fluttering edge and threw it over the demon’s head. Crimson sparkles whooshed out of Nazhivēr and sucked into the Carapace. His glowing eyes widened.
He flung me away.
The cloak tore free from my shoulders as I pitched backward, my head on a collision course with the pavement and limbs flailing. I plunged down—and landed on a thick cushion of nothingness.
The dense pillow of air beneath me deflated, and I thudded to the ground. Rolling over, I shot to my feet.
Ezra stood beside me, blades angled at the cult leaders and Nazhivēr.
The Carapace had caught on the demon’s horns, and he ripped the artifact off, throwing it aside. I clutched my sword in both hands, knowing I couldn’t reach the cloak without Nazhivēr killing me.
The demon’s glowing stare raked Ezra. “Is Eterran too cowardly to …” His eyes narrowed to slits, and his expression froze. “Where is Eterran?”
“Good question,” Ezra growled.
“I cannot sense him.”
Ezra smiled.
Nazhivēr hissed furiously. “What did you do? How did you break the contract?”
“What?” Xever demanded from behind his demon. “A demon mage contract can never—”
With a flash of crimson, a dark shape leaped over the battling mythics behind us and landed with a thump ahead of Ezra. The newcomer straightened, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Dressed in black, hood drawn up, and a long, thin tail snapping behind him.
Robin clung to his back, her hood off and hair mussed into a wild tangle.
I saw the exact moment Xever realized the black-clad figure wasn’t a man but a demon—Zylas, inexplicably dressed like the baddest of badass combat mythics.
“Robin and Zylas,” he observed as he pushed up his sleeves, revealing rows of silver bands around his arms. “How kind of you to join us. Xanthe?”
His partner smiled, her confidence unruffled despite the fact that she was still blinded. “Go play with your toys, then, Xever, and I’ll deal with the important matters, as I always do.”
Smirking, he retreated, moving backward down the street to escape the impending violence. Nazhivēr moved in front of his master, wings spreading protectively.
A low, husky laugh rumbled from Zylas. Still carrying Robin on his back, he vaulted across the gap between him and his enemies, landing in a crouch a foot from Nazhivēr’s knees.
“Ori eruptum impello!” Robin shouted.
A silver dome expanded around her, throwing the demon backward.
Leaving her and Zylas to it, I faced Xanthe. How did she think she could deal with us in that state?
She smiled and hooked a finger under the collar of her jacket. With a tug, she lifted out a jangling cluster of silver pendants. Three flat discs with jagged markings. Was each medallion an infernus?
She couldn’t control multiple demons at once, could she?
Crimson flared
