Page 24 of His Infernal Purr
We approach the abandoned warehouse—a hulking structure of corroded metal and broken windows at the edge of the industrial district. Finn walks beside me, tense but determined, the spray bottle of his ridiculous holy water-lemon juice concoction clutched in one hand.
“Remember your promise,” I remind him as we reach the rusted side door. “Stay out of the fight.”
“Unless you’re dying,” he amends stubbornly.
I suppress a sigh, then push open the door.
The interior of the warehouse is cavernous and dark, illuminated only by moonlight filtering through broken skylights and the eerie green glow emanating from Valefar, who stands in the center of the open space.
“How touching,” he observes as we enter. “You brought your pet to watch.”
“Witness,” Finn corrects firmly. “I’m here as a witness.”
Valefar’s eyes narrow slightly, reassessing Finn with new interest. “The mortal has spirit. I can see why you find it amusing.”
“Enough talk,” I interrupt, striding forward. “Let’s begin.”
I remove my shirt, allowing my wings full freedom of movement, and step into the makeshift arena—a rough circle defined by fallen support beams. Valefar does the same, his scaled form gleaming in the dim light.
For a moment, we circle each other, assessing, calculating. Then, with no visible signal, we both move.
The clash when we meet sends shockwaves through the warehouse, dust raining from the ceiling as our powers collide. I block his initial strike, countering with a blast of concentrated hellfire that he barely deflects.
What follows is a battle unlike anything Finn has witnessed before—demonic powers manifesting in physical force, energy blasts, reality distortions. We move faster than human eyes can properly track, striking with supernatural strength, each blow powerful enough to shatter concrete.
I land a solid hit to Valefar’s midsection, sending him crashing into a support column. He retaliates with a barrage of green energy bolts that I deflect with my wings, though one grazes my shoulder, leaving a smoking wound.
“You’ve grown soft,” Valefar taunts, circling again. “Too much time playing house with your mortal.”
“And you’ve grown predictable,” I counter, feinting left before striking from above, my claws raking across his chest.
He hisses in pain but manages to grab my arm, using my momentum to throw me across the warehouse. I crash through a stack of abandoned crates before regaining control, wings snapping open to halt my trajectory.
From the corner of my eye, I see Finn watching with horrified fascination, knuckles white around his useless spray bottle. The momentary distraction costs me—Valefar appears directly in front of me, landing a punishing blow to my chest that cracks several ribs.
Pain lances through me, but I use it, channeling the sensation into focused rage. My next attack drives Valefar backward, my wings becoming weapons as I slash at him with their reinforced edges.
“What will you do when he withers and dies?” Valefar gasps through the assault. “A few decades—nothing to us—and your pet will be dust.”
“He is not my pet,” I growl, pressing my advantage. “He is my chosen companion.”
“Semantics,” Valefar sneers, summoning a shield of green energy to block my next strike. “The result is the same. You’ve bound yourself to something temporary.”
His words strike at that same vulnerable fear, and my attack falters just enough for him to counter. He slams me to the ground with enough force to crack the concrete beneath us, his clawed hand closing around my throat.
“I could spare you this pain,” he offers, voice almost gentle despite the crushing pressure on my windpipe. “Return with me. Forget this mortal distraction.”
Through the pain and gathering darkness, I catch sight of Finn edging closer, desperation on his face, clearly about to break his promise to stay out of the fight.
No. This ends now.
With a surge of power I didn’t know I still possessed, I break Valefar’s hold, driving my knee into his abdomen while simultaneously striking at his face with the edge of my wing. The combination sends him stumbling backward, momentarily stunned.
I press the advantage ruthlessly, channeling every ounce of my power into a final, devastating assault. My wings become blurs of motion, my claws finding vulnerable points in his scaled armor, each strike punctuated with the names of those I’m fighting for.
“For my territories.”
Strike.
