Page 91 of Eclipse Born

Sean's eyes narrowed, clearly not believing me, but there was no time to argue. Another hellhound was approaching, its presence betrayed only by the faintest disturbance in the dust-filled air.

“We need to make them visible,” I said through gritted teeth, pushing past the pain. “Holy water—it might reveal them.”

Sean nodded, understanding immediately. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a flask of holy water. Sterling did the same, his movements slowed by his own injury but no less determined.

“On three,” I said, readying my whip again. “One, two, three!”

Sean and Sterling flung holy water in wide arcs, the blessed liquid catching what little light filtered through the church's broken windows. For a moment, it seemed to hang suspended in the air—then it landed on something solid. Something invisible.

Where the holy water touched the hellhounds, their forms sizzled into partial visibility—patches of mottled flesh, raw and scarred, appearing like ghosts in the dimness. The creatures howled in pain, the sound so loud it rattled the few remaining intact windows.

“There!” I shouted, directing the Heavenly Lash toward the nearest partially-visible hellhound. This time, the whip found its target. Celestial energy crackled along the length of the lash as it wrapped around what felt like the hellhound's neck, connecting with unholy flesh.

The creature's invisibility faltered further, revealing a glimpse of its true form—a nightmarish amalgamation of wolf and something far worse, its body distorted and wrong in ways that defied natural anatomy. Its eyes were pits of flame in anelongated skull, its mouth filled with row upon row of teeth like obsidian shards.

With a sharp pull, I tightened the lash's hold. The hellhound thrashed wildly, trying to break free, but the celestial energy burned deeper with each movement, holy fire consuming unholy flesh. Its howls turned to shrieks, a sound like metal scraping against metal that set my teeth on edge.

Across the room, Sterling and Hawk were engaging another hellhound, their movements coordinated through years of hunting together. Sterling's axe glowed faintly with runes of banishment, the blessed metal cutting through the hellhound's defenses where ordinary weapons would fail. Hawk moved with precision despite his bulk, silver daggers flashing as he targeted the creature's most vulnerable points.

Sean had taken on the third hellhound alone, the Colt in one hand, a flask of holy oil in the other. He fired with unerring accuracy, each bullet finding its mark despite the hellhound's partial invisibility. The special ammunition tore through the creature's hide, making it shriek with pain and rage.

The hellhound I was fighting had begun to smoke, celestial fire spreading from the point of contact with my whip. It thrashed more desperately now, claws scrabbling against stone as it tried to retreat. I held firm, channeling more power through the lash, feeling the mark on my chest burn in response.

With a final, terrible howl, the hellhound burst into flames—not ordinary fire, but something cleaner, brighter. Holy fire, consuming it from within. Within seconds, all that remained was a scorch mark on the ancient stone and the lingering scent of sulfur.

I turned to help the others, but Sterling and Hawk had their hellhound on the defensive. Sterling's axe came down in a powerful arc, separating the creature's head from its body in asingle, clean strike. Black ichor sprayed across the stone, hissing where it touched the ground.

Only Sean was still fighting, his hellhound proving more resilient than the others. It had cornered him against the altar, its massive bulk blocking any escape route. Sean fired his last round, the bullet burying itself in the hellhound's shoulder but failing to stop its advance.

I was moving before conscious thought, the Heavenly Lash singing through the air. It caught the hellhound's back leg, celestial energy burning through muscle and bone. The creature stumbled, momentarily distracted from its prey—giving Sean the opening he needed.

He lunged forward, silver knife in hand, driving the blade up under the hellhound's jaw and into its brain. The hellhound convulsed, its body twitching violently as unholy life drained from it. With a final, weak growl, it collapsed, already beginning to dissolve into sulfurous smoke.

For a moment, we all stood panting, bloodied but alive. The hellhounds were defeated, but twelve identical Asmodeus figures still surrounded us, watching with expressions of mild interest, as if we were particularly entertaining insects.

“Bravo,” they said in unison, the word dripping with mockery. “You've survived the first round. I'm almost impressed.”

I straightened despite the pain lancing through my side, refusing to show weakness. “Which one of you is real?” I demanded, voice rough from exertion. “Or are you too much of a coward to face us directly?”

The Asmodeus figures laughed, the sound unnaturally perfect, synchronized to the millisecond. “Oh, I'm facing you directly. Twelve times over.” They spread their hands in identical gestures of false generosity. “But I'll make you a deal. Find the real me in the next minute, and I'll let you live. Fail—”the smile widened on twelve identical faces “—and you'll wish the hellhounds had finished you.”

“We don't have time for games,” Sean growled, reloading his gun with practiced efficiency despite the blood still dripping from a gash above his eye.

“On the contrary,” all twelve Asmodeus replied. “Time is the only thing you have left.”

And with that ominous statement, the identical figures began to move, circling our battered group like wolves around wounded prey.

“Any bright ideas?” Hawk muttered, his breathing labored from the exertion of the fight.

Cassiel had been unusually quiet during the hellhound battle, conserving his strength for what was to come. Now he stepped forward, his gaze tracking each Asmodeus duplicate with inhuman focus.

“They're all connected to the original,” he said quietly. “Find the source, and the copies will fall.”

“Great,” Sean said, sarcasm thick in his voice. “And how exactly do we do that when they all look identical?”

I studied the duplicates, my mind racing. There had to be a tell, some small detail that would reveal the real Asmodeus. The way they moved, perhaps, or how they reacted to our scrutiny. The real one would be more invested, more present than mere illusions.

“Wait,” I said, a realization striking me. “The floor. Watch how they move over the floor.”

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