Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Reclaiming Territory

The demon whose tibia I'd just disintegrated had been reduced to bellowing in pain as he hobbled awkwardly toward the door.  Azraal and his two remaining goons looked on in either shock, awe, or terror.

It didn't really matter which.  Any of those things meant they were hesitant to attack, and that gave me the advantage.  As quickly as I could muster one up, I sent a fireball hurtling at the demon in the corner, telekinetically threw my desk chair at Azraal's head and teleported over to the last goon.

He seemed to know what I had in mind and tried to change position during the brief moment when I was in transit.  He lost a couple toes.  Though he wasn't nearly as crippled as his friend, the effect was just as debilitating to his morale.  Azraal had released Gus to swat away the chair hurtling toward him and the other guy had sustained third degree burns on his arms when he threw them up to protect his face.

I was winning.  And they all knew it. 

Azraal sent me the nastiest, angriest glare I've ever seen in my life (or death), grabbed the wine glass with the blood in it (probably his), and teleported out (probably far away).  His three comrades hurried off by way of the door.

Gus exhaled heavily.  "Good timing, Boss-Man," he breathed.  "Thank you."

"Gus," I said anxiously, ignoring his gratitude in favor of more pressing matters, "The Department of Enforcement is empty and Azraal is apparently roaming free.  What's going on?"

Gus frowned and gave me a pained, harried expression of sympathy.  "Do you want the bad news or the worse news?" he asked.

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