Daimon, hesychaze!

At my silent command, the infernus buzzed. Red power streaked across the lot, faster than a demon could run, and hit the pendant. It vibrated, then the light burst back out. Zylas took form again—and his fist struck the sorcerer in the gut so hard the man lifted off the ground.

He slammed down, mouth gaping and eyes rolling back in his head.

Zylas staggered and caught himself. Blood ran down his right arm and dripped off his chin. Wounds lashed his body from Nazhivēr’s claws, and he couldn’t straighten all the way.

“Zylas,” I whispered in horror.

“He is coming.”

With a sweep of his wings, Nazhivēr appeared on top of a stack of pipes. White teeth flashing, the demon extended both hands. Glowing hexagons materialized out of nothing, two feet wide, ringing his arms and overlapping each other.

“Kasht,” Zylas spat, thrusting his palm toward the ground. A circle filled with spiky runes formed beneath him, spreading outward until we were both standing among the glowing lines.

The temperature dropped, the faint light of the full moon dimming as the two demons drew in all the power from nearby sources. The heat rushed from my body, my breath puffing white.

Three seconds to build out their spells. Two. One.

A blast of spiraling magic erupted from Nazhivēr’s palms. It screamed across the distance. Crimson flashed as Zylas’s barrier coalesced in front of us.

The attack hit the barrier and exploded.

Zylas’s spell shattered and concussive force threw me backward. He caught me in midair and we slammed down together, his arms shielding my head and shoulders. His blood splattered my face.

Nazhivēr jumped off his perch and strode toward us, his tail snapping side to side. Zylas pushed off me, moving too slow, dark blood running from the corner of his mouth. He staggered to his feet, listing sideways.

Nazhivēr grinned. He could sense it: dh’ērrenith. We were defeated. Zylas wouldn’t last much longer.

“Ori sol videatur!” Zora shouted.

Light as bright as the sun flashed. Agony speared my eyes, and I shrieked at the sudden pain. Zylas yelped—and so did Nazhivēr.

All I could see were bright spots. I was blinded—but were the demons? They had infrared vision, but would it work while their normal vision was excruciatingly white?

Scuffing footsteps, and Zora’s voice rang out in another incantation. A smear of green blazed among the spots crowding my vision. She was fighting Nazhivēr? Alone?

I reached out blindly and my searching hand hit Zylas’s leg. I grabbed his wrist and hauled myself up, clinging to his arm.

Zylas, we can fight too! We can use my cantrips!

His hand closed around mine, blood-slick fingers digging in. His shadowed face appeared among the spots as my vision recovered.

Zora shouted another incantation. Her sword struck metal with a ringing clang.

Like we defeated Vasilii. We can do it.

I pulled his arm up, pointing our hands toward the sounds of battle. My vision cleared a little more, and with a final blink, my sight returned.

So did Nazhivēr’s.

He swept his powerful arm out. Zora was already swinging her sword, the long blade giving her more reach than Zylas’s claws, and the point cut across the demon’s shoulder as he struck. The impact from his armored forearm knocked her ten feet and she landed on her back, halfway between us and Nazhivēr.

Crimson streaked up Nazhivēr’s arms as his glowing eyes focused on Zylas. A spell building. A lethal attack.

I pressed my palm to the back of Zylas’s hand, waiting for red magic to light up our skin. I waited to feel the searing heat of his power inside me.

Zylas!

Nazhivēr launched for us, wings snapping out to propel him forward with greater speed. Zylas’s fingers twitched convulsively, and red power flashed over his hand—but not mine.

He began a cast, but his magic wasn’t fast enough. We didn’t have three or four seconds—we had two, and only a cantrip was that fast.

But his magic didn’t touch me, didn’t reach me.

Spear-like blades extended off Nazhivēr’s fist as he closed the final few feet between us.

“Impello!”

On her knees, Zora had one hand thrust toward us, a round medallion squeezed in her grip. The simple hex hit me and Zylas, throwing us backward, and Nazhivēr’s piercing blades flashed above us as we fell.

We hit the ground yet again. Nazhivēr landed almost on top of me, but he didn’t swing those lethal blades down into me or Zylas. Instead, he pivoted on one foot.

Changing direction. Switching targets.

Zora was halfway to her feet as the unstoppable demon turned on her. Three lightning-fasts steps. The glowing blades adorning his fists, an attack meant for Zylas—meant to shred his unbreakable armor and snap his inhumanly strong bones—blazed with power.

My terrified scream rang through the night as the demon slammed those blades into Zora’s body. Driving her down. Smashing her into the ground, the spears of power piercing concrete as easily as they’d passed through her flesh.

Her limbs thudded into the ground, unmoving. She hadn’t even had time to cry out.

Nazhivēr lifted his fist, his spell shimmering away. He turned back to us, ready to continue now that he’d dealt with the human pest who’d dared to interfere.

Zora! Zora! I was shrieking her name in my head, but my voice had disappeared.

Zylas shoved off the ground and braced his feet. Magic sparked over his hands—dim, weak. Frost sparkled across the ground as he drew in the faint warmth from the air, seeking every vestige of power he could get.

Nazhivēr’s glowing eyes shifted, focusing on something behind us.

He gave Zylas a slashing look, then whirled away. He strode past Zora to the crumpled albino sorcerer, still out cold from Zylas’s strike to his gut. The demon grabbed the mythic, spread his wings, and leaped into the air. His dark silhouette blended with the night.

A crackle in my ear.

“A team is coming your way,” Amalia warned me, her voice hushed and shaking. “They saw the light from Zora’s spell.”

Noise behind us. Thumping footsteps. A low call—one mythic signaling to another.

“Zylas,” I croaked, pushing onto my knees. “Heal … heal Zora. Please.”

He turned. Dark eyes, gleaming with the faintest hint of scarlet, gazed at me without emotion. His magic was too depleted. He didn’t have the strength to heal such terrible wounds—and had too many terrible wounds himself.