The demon turned back to face them and then, faster than even Qarakh’s undead eyes could follow, plunged the bone claws of his right hand into Aajav’s belly. Aajav cried out in pain as the demon, grinning the entire time, lifted him into the air. Black blood gushed from Aajav’s belly, but it didn’t splash onto the ground. Instead the blood was absorbed directly into the demon’s skin, the pores on his hand opening like tiny mouths and drinking greedily. Whatever else this demon was, Qarakh knew that it subsisted on the life fluid of others, just as they did.
Qarakh then forgot that this thing was a demon, forgot that he was, according to Aajav, too young to battle it. All he knew was that the man who was both his bonded brother and his sire in darkness was in agony and losing blood fast. Qarakh rushed around to the demon’s side, grabbed the creature’s arm with both hands and pulled, hoping to dislodge Aajav from the talons that held him above the ground. But no matter how much strength he put into the effort, Qarakh was unable to budge the demon’s arm. In fact, the demon didn’t appear to even notice his presence. The fiend was staring intently at Aajav’s too-pale face, determined to not miss a single moment of his destruction.
Qarakh released the demon’s arm and stepped back. If he couldn’t best the monster with strength, he’d try steel. He drew his saber, gripped it with both hands, and swung it at the demon’s arm with all his might. The blade sliced through the fiend’s flesh and struck bone with an impact so jarring that Qarakh wouldn’t have been surprised if the sword had snapped in two. The saber didn’t break, but neither did it have much effect on the demon. No blood ran from the injury Qarakh had inflicted, and if the creature was in any pain, he didn’t show it. He did, however, turn away from watching Aajav wither and looked at Qarakh with narrowed eyes.
Qarakh attempted to yank his saber free, but it was stuck fast, as if the demon were somehow holding onto the blade with the bone itself. Qarakh swore and released the handle of his weapon and ran to grab hold of Aajav’s legs. If the thrice-damned demon wouldn’t release his blood brother, then Qarakh would just have to pull him free.
Aajav screamed as Qarakh tugged, and he slipped off the demon’s talons with a shower of blood. Both Qarakh and Aajav tumbled backward, and Qarakh made sure to cushion his brother’s fall with his own body. Now that Aajav was no longer in contact with the demon, there was a chance his injuries might heal—if Qarakh could keep the demon away from him.
He shoved Aajav to the side, mentally apologizing for being so rough, and leaped to his feet. The demon was looking with amusement at the saber still lodged in his arm. He reached up with his other hand and pulled the sword free. As his wound healed, the demon turned the blade first one way, then the other, as if examining the craftsmanship that went into making it. He then drew his arm back and hurled the saber into the distance. Qarakh didn’t bother to see where it landed—it was clearly too far away to do him any good now.
The demon then turned to face Qarakh and grinned so wide that the corners of his mouth split open. His teeth grew longer, wider, thicker, skin peeling away from the mouth in all directions until it seemed to Qarakh there was nothing else left: no lips, cheeks, nose or eyes, just a gigantic tooth-filled maw.
It was then that Qarakh knew he and Aajav were going to die for the second and last time.
Not if you listen to me, said a guttural voice.
The demon came toward Qarakh, claws held at its sides, needle-sharp tips clacking together eagerly as it walked.
Very well, Qarakh thought. What must I do?
The voice answered with undisguised glee. Take Aajav’s saber and leave the rest to me.
The demon was almost upon them now, and Qarakh thought he could see black things squirming behind its oversized teeth.
He didn’t hesitate. He bent down next to Aajav, who lay motionless—unconscious or dead, Qarakh couldn’t tell—and drew his brother’s sword. He gripped it tight, straightened and waited for the voice that was his Beast to keep its promise.
Fury welled up inside Qarakh beyond anything he had ever known. It was as if a raging fire filled his being. No, it was as if he were fire… a vast inferno blazing higher and wider than the Great Wall itself, sweeping across the steppe and devouring everything in its path.
Qarakh lifted Aajav’s saber, gave forth a bellow that sounded like the combined roars of a dozen Siberian tigers, and charged at the demon. He moved faster than ever before, fast even for one of his dark kind, and before the demon could do more than begin to raise its taloned hands to defend itself, Qarakh swung the saber in a vicious arc and sliced through the fiend’s neck.
The demon’s head sailed through the air, its maw shrinking as it flew. No blood bubbled up from the wound. In fact, all that was visible inside its neck was darkness, as if the demon were hollow inside. The head hit the ground and bounced once, twice, three times before finally coming to rest on its right ear. Qarakh expected the body to collapse now that it was bereft of a head, but it continued to stand, waiting patiently for whatever would happen next.
The fire that burned so strong and hot inside Qarakh dwindled quickly from an inferno to a mere campfire before extinguishing altogether. Qarakh ran his tongue over his teeth and found them sharper than before. The Beast had left its mark on him.
He started toward the demon’s head, intending to destroy it, but before he had
