I clawed at the creature’s remaining eye. It snarled and shook its head, its breath fetid, washing my skin with the smell of death. The movement dislodged its claw from my shoulder and I fell backward with a grunt of pain. Energy washed across my spine and I realized with horror that I was near the runes. Then air stirred, and the scent of malevolence grew stronger. The hound was in the air, coming straight at me.
I became one with Amaya again—felt the fierceness of her spirit rush through me. We leapt to one side. One foot skimmed the edge of a rune and sent a warning ripple of sickly green light across the darkness. We raised the sword, brought her down hard. Hit the creature’s spine even as it hit the runes. The runes didn’t react, didn’t flare, didn’t cinder.
It didn’t matter.
This time, the combined strength of both Amaya and me drove the sword, and it burned and flamed swiftly through the hellhound’s flesh, cutting through skin and bone with the ease of butter.
The hound screamed as it flopped to the floor, but it still had movement. It dug its claws into the stone and dragged itself around, snapping at my legs with its remaining teeth. I leapt back—separated from Amaya’s spirit once again—then swung the satchel around, dragged out another bottle of holy water, and poured it over the creature from head to foot. The rancid smell of burning flesh filled the air as the creature twisted and howled in fury and pain. I raised Amaya again and brought her down—point first—with as much force as I could muster. This time she didn’t sever, she consumed. Purple flames erupted, swept swiftly across the hound’s hissing, disintegrating flesh, until there was no skin, no bone, no sound, just purple fire and the wretched smell of death. Then, with a sharp report, the flames and the hound were gone, and Amaya suddenly felt heavier in my hand.
Which didn’t mean she was in any way satisfied.
I swung around. Jak had created a protective ring using the water, but it wasn’t as secure as we’d hoped. It stopped the bulk of the creature, but it hadn’t stopped the creature’s slashing attacks with wicked-looking claws.
I spun and ran around the runes, coming up on the hellhound from behind. It sensed me—it was always going to, as I was making little effort to sneak and Amaya was screaming her heart out—and twisted and leapt in one smooth motion. I threw myself forward, turning as I fell, coming up under the creature as it flew above me. Amaya’s screaming was at fever pitch—wanting, needing bloodshed—so I gave it to her. I drove her blade into the creature’s belly and ripped her along its length. Blood and gore splattered across my face, stinking to high heaven and stinging like acid. These creatures may not be truly flesh, but god, when their innards spewed it damn well felt real.
“Jak, you okay?” I scrambled to my feet, Jak’s circle at my back and Amaya held out in front of me like a baton.
“No worse off than you—watch out!”
It wasn’t a warning I needed. The creature had barely hit the stone when it was in the air again. I threw the last bottle of holy water, but the hound somehow twisted, and the water hit trailing innards, not flesh. I swung the blade, slicing across the creature’s snout, then twisted out of its reach. It had barely smacked down on the stones when it leapt again. But as it did, Amaya and I once again became one. All her fury, all her energy and her vicious need to kill became mine, and I screamed as she screamed. Together, we severed the creature’s head clean from its neck even as it managed a last, desperate slash with its claws. I sucked in my gut, felt clothing and skin part, but little else, still held by the fury that was Amaya. As the hellhound hit the stone in separate parts, her fire leapt from the blade and covered both. In very little time, there was nothing left but ash.
I lowered Amaya’s point to the stone and leaned against her, suddenly weak with relief. We’d done it. Somehow, we’d beaten them.
All we had to do now was get out of here.
Jak’s hand slid around my waist as he leaned next to me. “You okay?”
I took a deep, somewhat quivery breath, and released it slowly. “Yeah. You?”
“Scratched, bleeding, and fucking glad to be alive.”
I smiled, as he no doubt intended, then straightened and stepped away from his touch. “I don’t think we can get out via these gates. I think we need to go back through the tunnel.”
“Then we’ll have to leave our prisoner. It’ll be next to impossible to drag him through it.”
I grimaced. “But we can’t afford to leave him. The last thing we want is him reporting back to his masters. At least if we get him upstairs, Azriel can alter—”