Page 95 of The Misfit Mage and His Devilish Desires

“It’s my essence now.” It had evolved with me, for me, grown and changed in ways devils never had before. He couldn’t have it back. He couldn’t win this battle. He couldn’t destroy everything simply because he lusted for destruction.

Without hesitation, without pause, I swept ahead and found myself clashing with the devil.

I hit him with every spell I’d learned. Incantations one after another. Saturation of the atmosphere itself, turning the air and earth and molecules in between into my territory of combat. The familiar bond to Tony offered a pantheon of knowledge and insight into things about nature only witches accessed. I harnessed every element in my repertoire, and those I didn’t have access to, Tony assisted with. I glamoured myself approaching Beelzebub from a thousand directions, each illusion obvious. I wouldn’t win with stealth, but if I spammed his senses, then it might offer an edge for a second.

All I needed was another second. Another landed punch. Another critical spell. Another fatal injury. Another—

With a sudden and single snap of Beelzebub’s jaws, he shattered every incantation I’d cast. The swing of his lower arms sent the elements burrowing into the pits of the earth. His menacing exhale broke my control on the area. And he ignored my illusions, unfazed by pain, real or imagined.

In an instant, he towered above me, pummeling me from every direction. Hit after hit. It was brutal and blurring and bloody, and I couldn’t think anymore.

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He kept hitting…

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It hadn’t stopped…

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I didn’t know what to do…

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I gasped, awaiting the next onslaught. The next brutal assault. The next bone-breaking strike.

But relief struck when Beelzebub tired of me and knocked away the demons who bombarded him in a frenzy. I needed more time. Everything faded in and out with each blink of my swollen eyes. Orias tracing sigils of wicked spells. Mora using one-of-a-kind artifacts that could slaughter a nation. Satan sent waves of darkness. Corson cackled chaotically, still high offthe taste of a devil embedded with his essence; it pulsed and thrummed with every attack he attempted.

I lay there, defeated and incapable of continuing.

The ground crunched beneath Beelzebub’s footsteps, and I wheezed. I needed to move. Fight. Harness my power. If he took another step, I’d be dead. We’d all be dead. Everything would end. The world. The dimension. The neighboring realms. The universe. Beelzebub would strike it all down.

Lilith shrieked.

I flinched. Beelzebub paused. We both turned to see Lilith’s crumbling body.

Her scream didn’t hold the fervor of resistance it had every time it had before. No. Her voice echoed with fear and defeat and an inability to stop the inevitable.

Kell approached, chanting with the Diabolic orb in hand. She’d made it here. She’d finished the orb. I panted, relieved and exhausted and struggling to mend all the damage dealt.

Kell stood silent with the orb raised high, unrelenting as broken bits of Lilith’s essence funneled from all across the city. Each writhing piece slashed at Kell, sliced deep, tore chunks of flesh, and did everything in the devil’s power to resist the eternal prison awaiting her.

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