Page 122 of A Soul to Steal

Gideon leapt to his own feet and bashed his shoulder against the dome. They fought together to break it.

“Let me out,” he whispered, forcing adrenaline to the surface so it could loosen his stiff muscles, fill him with heat, and give him strength. When it didn’t let up, he yelled, “Let me out!”

He wanted to punch the shit out of something that deserved it. He wanted to vent all this spiteful hatred, and the sorrowful emotions he truly hadn’t been given the chance to release. He wanted to kill, destroy, and maim until he felt better.

He wanted to hurt something that was set on hurting him in return, rather than take out all his pain and frustration on someone who should never have been his target.

The dome popped like a bubble.

Gideon tackled the small Demon to the ground before it even had a chance to catch itself when it stumbled. A grated, cracked roar exploded from him as he straddled its chest to keep it down, while using his knees to lock its biceps to the ground.

Then, as it snapped its gross, drool-covered fangs like a wild animal, its claws cutting and slicing through the air, he grabbed its throat with one hand. He shoved up against its jaw to stop it from biting him. With his free hand, he raised his fist back and launched it across its face.

Athwacksounded, as he struck warm flesh and hard bone. The creature grunted, only to let out a horrible hiss as it fought to get out from under him.

He punched it and didn’t stop.

Even when its ferocious snapping turned into pathetic wheezes, he unleashed... everything. Even when it clawed down Gideon’s face, his biceps, his side, causing ribbons of blood to flow from him, he punched with every bit of his might, his strength.

He wished it was the Demon who had killed him, wished it was himself, wished it was a physical manifestation of his anger and sadness. He pelted its face even when its fangs accidentally cut across his knuckles, and his own blood mixed in with the Demon’s. Even when its skull began to crack and eventually caved in, and it stopped moving, he didn’t stop until he pulverised it.

His chest was heavy, as though filled with gravel. His lungs ached as they took in air so cold it sliced his insides like razors. His inhales were short through his nose, but his exhales were long, focused, and foggy through spit-dotted lips.

The salty tracks of his tears stung the slicing wounds on his face and mingled with the rivulets of his own blood.

Only when he couldn’t see through his tears, did he stop, and a pitiful sob broke from him as he covered his face. He didn’t know what he was doing, or why, nor did he think this was actually helping. Yet the violence had felt so damn good that he didn’t know if he was weeping in relief or in shame.

Sand shifted, and Gideon glanced over his shoulder. He rose to his feet to greet the Demon that had slithered from the sea, its tail fishlike yet its upper body near human.

It looked slow, although not small, like the one he’d just killed.

“I reckon I can take you on,” Gideon numbly muttered, reaching down when he noticed a large rock half buried in the grass. His boots squeaked in the sand as he walked across it, stumbling towards danger. “If not, you’ll just take me back to Aleron earlier than expected.”

With Demon blood tainting his fist, dirt and drying tears upon his face, and his veins flooded with raging adrenaline, he sprinted for the Demon with a yell.

I’ll kill everything that tries to eat me.

He wasn’t prey, and Gideon wastiredof feeling like he was.

Long after day broke, Gideon stayed within the tree he’d climbed to hide. Cradling a shredded arm to his chest to tamp down the worst of the throbbing, he tried to ignore the Demon below him.

The shade cast just enough shadow to allow the Demon freedom even within the day. Hissing whenever it accidentally touched a beam of light, a hint of smoke wafted from it. It spent most of its time clawing at the tree in a poor attempt at climbing it. Rabid, feral, and likely obsessed with the scent of his blood in the air, it never stopped.

He’d ended up struggling with the half-fish Demon, but he did manage to smash its brains out with his rock. After that, he’d mostly been fine until daybreak turned the sky a lighter navy. The little fucker beneath him, although smaller than any of the others, was a fast thing.

His brute strength mattered naught against swift swiping claws and frantic snapping fangs.

He glanced down at his cradled arm.

His sleeve had been torn from him, and the entire length of exposed flesh had suffered deep, gouging marks. The creature had rent skin and muscle all the way to bone. Three of his fingerswere crushed, and all round he was just in agony.

His face wasn’t faring much better, one eye swollen shut. His pants were mostly fine, although saturated and kept him freezing. Yet, the numerous purple stains of Demon blood mixed with his own were gratifying.

He’d killed two, which was more than he could say for most humans. For a night, he’d been a Demonslayer like Emerie, although she probably had far better skills than him after being a member of the guild for years. He’d started to feel emasculated being called a bride, not to mention knowing his sister could probably kick his ass now. Surviving the night he’d just faced? Pride swelled despite his pain.

He peeked down at the Demon, whose red eyes met his own.

Sure, he could have let it eat him so he could go back to Aleron sooner, but he decided being eaten once was enough. He was willing to be patient, especially if it meant he didn’t have to further upset Aleron by returning to him for such a sour reason.

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