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xp_logsWhile Cain and Wanda are evacuating the kids to the boathouse, Kylun goes Fuzzy Cuisinart on the demons left behind.
"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," the book began, and Kylun was rather looking forward to finding out what a hobbit might be; it was a relatively peaceful evening, he had his window cracked open to catch the cool breeze and the laughter from the children playing in the leaves, and it seemed like an excellent time to make a start on the recommendations the friendly librarian had given him.
Light flashed suddenly, and the air outside his window made a tearing sound, and the laughter turned to shouts and screams of alarm. Kylun was on his feet and at his window in an instant, scanning the grounds.
There were demons on the lawn. He took a moment to make sure that they were demons, and not other mutants--the angry flash of his sword as he drew an inch of blade free was enough--and shrugged into his harness as the edge of the woods exploded into a storm of leaves.
The children were running for cover, but the leaves would not hide them for long, and the demons would follow, unless they were stopped. Kylun secured his blades with a final tug of a harness strap, opened his window fully, backed up . . . and crossed the room in a full sprint that ended in a long, shallow dive through the window.
He arced through the air, teeth already bared in anticipation, and turned a half-somersault just in time to catch a demon's upthrust head with both feet, driving the creature to the ground and pushing him into an easy backflip. His swords came into his hands as he landed in a crouch, toe-claws digging into the soil; the blades flared, a clean white light that set the demons wincing and shading their eyes.
Kylun didn't recognize the breed--or possibly breeds--but that was all right. Fifteen years spent fighting the cult of Necrom and its monsters had taught him that nearly anything could be killed, if you cut it into small enough pieces. And, sometimes, burned the pieces afterward.
He leapt forward before the demons could recover, a quick pass through the center of their ranks that left two on the ground unmoving and three others howling, clutching widening slashes that bubbled with thick blood. One of those fell as he readied himself again, leaving four standing; the only uninjured one waved the other three forward, two he'd cut and the one he'd landed on.
The three demons charged, and Kylun rose to meet them, leaving the ground in a spinning kick that shattered one demon's misshapen jaw; he used that one as a springboard, flying into the second blades-first and neatly removing its head. He spun again, landed facing the way he'd come, and charged the third, which lost a claw to his off-hand block and its throat as he wheeled and brought his other sword across. Almost as an afterthought, he reversed his left-hand sword and ran the broken-jawed demon through as it tried to come up on his blind side.
Kylun absently flicked the black blood from his swords as he regarded the last demon, obviously the group's leader: it stood seven feet tall and at least four across the shoulders, a roughly humanoid form the color of drying blood, with six serpentine arms sprouting from its sides. It roared, raising its fists to the sky, and six swords of smoky black fire guttered into existence.
"Going to eat your heart," it growled, its voice harsh and loud over the crackling of its weapons. "Going to take you back with me, make you die screaming."
"Not today," Kylun replied calmly. He stood at ease, waiting for the demon to move, and exploded into motion when it came for him, Zz'ria's blades an indistinguishable blur as Kylun parried the black flames and struck once, twice--and the demon broke away, gibbering in fury.
Two arms wriggled out the last of their unnatural life on the ground, their swords flickering out. Kylun wrinkled his nose at the acrid stench of singed fur--he hated it when they used fire, it always left him looking slightly mangy. And it was past time to end this; other demons might well be lurking about the grounds.
He loped forward, in no hurry; his swords described a complex figure-eight pattern, knocking the demon's four remaining weapons wide as they swooped in at him. He snapped his arms back to his sides, then launched forward, driving both swords into the demon's chest to the hilts.
It screamed as its flesh detonated around the blessed steel, its knees buckling, its swords bursting into ash, the hellish light in its eyes flickering out. Kylun drew his blades free as the demon slumped to the ground, flicking them clean and sheathing them formally, then turned away.
He would sweep the grounds, quickly and quietly. And if any demons remained, hunting what they thought would be easy prey among the children, they would find the last defender of Zz'ria, the slayer of Necrom, hunting them.
"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," the book began, and Kylun was rather looking forward to finding out what a hobbit might be; it was a relatively peaceful evening, he had his window cracked open to catch the cool breeze and the laughter from the children playing in the leaves, and it seemed like an excellent time to make a start on the recommendations the friendly librarian had given him.
Light flashed suddenly, and the air outside his window made a tearing sound, and the laughter turned to shouts and screams of alarm. Kylun was on his feet and at his window in an instant, scanning the grounds.
There were demons on the lawn. He took a moment to make sure that they were demons, and not other mutants--the angry flash of his sword as he drew an inch of blade free was enough--and shrugged into his harness as the edge of the woods exploded into a storm of leaves.
The children were running for cover, but the leaves would not hide them for long, and the demons would follow, unless they were stopped. Kylun secured his blades with a final tug of a harness strap, opened his window fully, backed up . . . and crossed the room in a full sprint that ended in a long, shallow dive through the window.
He arced through the air, teeth already bared in anticipation, and turned a half-somersault just in time to catch a demon's upthrust head with both feet, driving the creature to the ground and pushing him into an easy backflip. His swords came into his hands as he landed in a crouch, toe-claws digging into the soil; the blades flared, a clean white light that set the demons wincing and shading their eyes.
Kylun didn't recognize the breed--or possibly breeds--but that was all right. Fifteen years spent fighting the cult of Necrom and its monsters had taught him that nearly anything could be killed, if you cut it into small enough pieces. And, sometimes, burned the pieces afterward.
He leapt forward before the demons could recover, a quick pass through the center of their ranks that left two on the ground unmoving and three others howling, clutching widening slashes that bubbled with thick blood. One of those fell as he readied himself again, leaving four standing; the only uninjured one waved the other three forward, two he'd cut and the one he'd landed on.
The three demons charged, and Kylun rose to meet them, leaving the ground in a spinning kick that shattered one demon's misshapen jaw; he used that one as a springboard, flying into the second blades-first and neatly removing its head. He spun again, landed facing the way he'd come, and charged the third, which lost a claw to his off-hand block and its throat as he wheeled and brought his other sword across. Almost as an afterthought, he reversed his left-hand sword and ran the broken-jawed demon through as it tried to come up on his blind side.
Kylun absently flicked the black blood from his swords as he regarded the last demon, obviously the group's leader: it stood seven feet tall and at least four across the shoulders, a roughly humanoid form the color of drying blood, with six serpentine arms sprouting from its sides. It roared, raising its fists to the sky, and six swords of smoky black fire guttered into existence.
"Going to eat your heart," it growled, its voice harsh and loud over the crackling of its weapons. "Going to take you back with me, make you die screaming."
"Not today," Kylun replied calmly. He stood at ease, waiting for the demon to move, and exploded into motion when it came for him, Zz'ria's blades an indistinguishable blur as Kylun parried the black flames and struck once, twice--and the demon broke away, gibbering in fury.
Two arms wriggled out the last of their unnatural life on the ground, their swords flickering out. Kylun wrinkled his nose at the acrid stench of singed fur--he hated it when they used fire, it always left him looking slightly mangy. And it was past time to end this; other demons might well be lurking about the grounds.
He loped forward, in no hurry; his swords described a complex figure-eight pattern, knocking the demon's four remaining weapons wide as they swooped in at him. He snapped his arms back to his sides, then launched forward, driving both swords into the demon's chest to the hilts.
It screamed as its flesh detonated around the blessed steel, its knees buckling, its swords bursting into ash, the hellish light in its eyes flickering out. Kylun drew his blades free as the demon slumped to the ground, flicking them clean and sheathing them formally, then turned away.
He would sweep the grounds, quickly and quietly. And if any demons remained, hunting what they thought would be easy prey among the children, they would find the last defender of Zz'ria, the slayer of Necrom, hunting them.
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