Page 11 of Devil's Night

Before I could act on the impulse, Nicole’s chin lifted. “I’ve wondered sometimes if maybe that’s why I got into this whole paranormal thing. Like maybe I was looking for a way to contact them somehow. To find out if there was more out there, you know? Some greater meaning or plane of existence beyond our own.”

Her lips curved in a wan, self-mocking smile. “Stupid, I know.”

“No.” The word slipped out, unbidden. I held her gaze, allowing the sincerity of my tone to resonate. “Not stupid at all.”

Nicole’s pupils dilated as she searched my face with an unguarded longing that mirrored my own burgeoning desire. For a crystalline instant, everything else fell away - the maze, the card, even the ponderous weight of duty and honor. There was only her, and the strange pull coiling tighter within me.

Then a skittering noise like metal scraping stone shattered the fragile connection.

My senses sharpened, every muscle coiling as I whipped my head toward the source of the disturbance. From the darkened recesses of a doorway across the room, something emerged - a skeletal, multi-limbed construct of bone and metal. Spindly legs carried it forward in a stuttering, jerking gait.

With a harsh bellow, I flung myself at the abomination, drawing my plasma blade in a single fluid arc. Energy crackled along the humming length as I brought it down in a vicious overhand strike.

The shriek of rending metal split the air as my weapon carved through the construct’s outermost limbs in a shower of sparks, then it knocked my knife from my hand.

Well. There was more than one way to take this thing apart.

NICOLE

The nightmare lunged at Sargon, its bony claws extended in a lethal swipe. I gasped, my heart pounding in my ears as I watched the deadly dance unfold before me.

Sargon moved with blinding speed, his lithe form twisting and dodging the monster’s strikes with uncanny grace. His red eyes narrowed, calculating each move with razor-sharp precision.

The construct’s jaws snapped mere inches from Sargon’s face, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he seized the opening, driving his fist into its ribcage with a sickening crunch. Shards of bone exploded outward, raining down on the tiled floor.

I flinched, covering my mouth to stifle a cry.

Sargon didn’t relent, raining blow after blow upon the skeletal monstrosity. His fists were like jackhammers, pulverizing bones with each calculated strike. The air filled with the acrid stench of charred marrow and the sickly-sweet scent of decay.

The construct retaliated, its claws leaving deep gashes across Sargon’s chest and arms. But the wounds barely fazed him. Rivulets of deep purple blood trickled down his gray skin, only serving to heighten the feral brilliance of his eyes.

I had to do something, anything to help. My gaze darted around the kitchen, searching for a weapon, a tool, anything that could give Sargon an advantage.

That’s when I spotted it – a heavy cast-iron skillet sitting on the stovetop.

Without a second thought, I snatched it up, the weight of it solid and reassuring in my grip. Gritting my teeth, I waited for my chance, my knuckles whitening as I gripped the pan’s handle.

The construct reared back, its maw gaping wide as it prepared to lunge at Sargon once more. This was my opening.

“Sargon, get down!” I shouted, putting every ounce of force I could muster into my swing.

The skillet connected with the back of the thing’s skull with a sickening crunch, its vertebrae shattering under the impact. The construct collapsed, twitching and thrashing in its death throes.

Sargon didn’t hesitate. In a blur of motion, he pounced, pinning the creature’s thrashing form to the ground. With a vicious snarl, he grabbed its skull in both hands and twisted with all his might. The construct’s neck snapped like a dry twig, and it went limp, finally still.

Silence descended over the kitchen, broken only by the ragged sound of our breathing. Sargon slowly rose to his feet, his piercing gaze fixed on me with a look that made my blood run cold.

“What in the Void were you thinking?” he growled, his words sharp with a dangerous edge. “You could have been killed!”

I swallowed hard, adrenaline still keeping me on the knife’s edge. “I... I couldn’t just stand by and watch.”

Sargon stalked towards me, his movements fluid and predatory. “You’re a fool, human. This is no place for your kind.”

His words stung, but I refused to back down. “Maybe not, but I’m not just going to cower and wait for someone else to save me.”

Sargon’s face was mere inches from mine now, his warm breath fanning across my skin. Up close, I could make out every detail of his features – the sharp planes of his face, the patterns of his intricate markings, the faint ridges of his horns.

And those eyes…cold and compelling, like twin pools of liquid fire.

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