As the two menacing embodiments of evil approached me from opposite directions, I warily considered my objectives:
- Keep Gavsot from getting killed
- Get the fuck out of here
- If at all convenient, keep Torvin from getting killed too
I also considered the tools at my disposal:
- One powerful but incapacitated demon
- One weak and cowardly demon
- Azraal's knife, which I'd pulled from Gavsot's shoulder in the hopes that it still had a usable amount of cocktail on it
- Endless halls lined with cells filled with demonic prisoners
- My wits
This was going to be way less than awesome. Azraal and Niven were closing the distance cautiously but with accelerating boldness. I acted quickly, doing the only thing I could think of.
I kicked open the thick wooden door to the nearest cell. "Torvin!" I barked, nodding to the door to indicate he should go in. Grateful to be ushered away from the action, he hurried into the cell. I lifted Gavsot’s heavy, muscular body and tried to drag him inside with me, but I ran out of time—Azraal had closed the distance.
I slashed at him wildly with his own knife and he backed out of range, prowling around me like a predator searching for a vulnerability. Niven appeared out of nowhere, his shoulders lowered, bowling Azraal out of the way with startling ease. The bony, razor-sharp protrusions at his wrists flashed in the air in front of me, narrowly missing my face.
I had no intention of getting killed by this asshole a second time. I dropped Gavsot and lunged forward. As I tackled Niven, I gripped him tightly, teleported us both a hundred yards down the hall, released him, and teleported myself back to Gavsot. I bodily heaved him inside the cell as he weakly apologized for his uselessness.