Page 126 of When Death Whispers

I take a deep inhale of Hudson’s fear, now extra potent with the obvious imminent end awaiting us, and use the extra boost to brace for impact.

The first creature goes for Hudson again. He dodges—barely—twisting his body as it skims past him, but he’s not fast enough to avoid the second. Claws rake across his side and blood blooms instantly.

Hudson stumbles, and that’s all it takes.

The swarm closes in.

I let go.

Fangs. Claws. Pure violence.

I take the first one by the throat, twisting until something snaps, then throw the body aside before the next can pounce. Teeth sink into my shoulder and I snarl, jerking free, my claws raking through soft flesh, black ichor spraying across the dark.

Hudson is fighting. But he’s struggling. He’s bleeding.

He won’t last long.

Damn human.

We need an out.

And, surprisingly, the Evergloom answers.

The trees don’t just shift this time. They collapse with a crack that sounds like splitting bone shudders through the air. Trunks bowing inward like something unseen is crushing them from above. The ground trembles, a deep, thrumming pulse that isn’t coming from the creatures closing in on us. The air itself charges with power, power that doesn’t belong to me or the creatures around us, more potent than I’ve felt in a long time, even more so than Steo’s.

The fuck?

Hudson curses, bracing himself against another attack, but the creatures aren’t looking at us anymore.

They’re looking up.

Something drops from the trees like a falling star.

No sound. No wasted movement. Just a single, fluid descent.

A figure black as the void itself, his body covered in deep scars that glow like fractured constellations, each mark carved into his skin like they were etched into existence. His horns, long and curling, gleam like polished obsidian. His white, depthless eyes burn through the dark.

Then—something else crashes down beside him.

A massive wall of red muscle and grinning fangs, horns curling high, his cow-like tail flicking lazily behind him. His claws flex, enormous hands twitching like he’s aching for the fight that’s about to come. Unlike the first, he’s not still. He’s thrumming with movement, broad shoulders rolling like he’s loosening up.

Hudson, still panting, his hand pressed to his bleeding side, eyes them like they’re nothing more than more bad news.

“Okay. Sure. More Demons.” Then under his breath. “What the fuck.”

I flick black blood from my claws, watching the two carefully, taking in every shift of their stance, every twitch of muscle. They don’t look surprised to see us.

I don’t like that.

The scarred one moves first. Not an attack. Not a lunge. Just a step. But it’s enough.

The air shudders, the Evergloom itself shifting, the ground seeming to bend around him like it knows him.

And the creatures—the ones that have been hunting us, surrounding us, closing in for the kill—bolt.

They don’t hesitate. They don’t even try to fight.

Theyrun.

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