Niven slammed his body thunderously against the door.
“Come on,” he taunted, the door shuddering against another impact. “Open the door so I can kill you again!”
“You tore off my fucking head!” Azraal’s head shrilled.
“What are we gonna do?” Torvin squealed.
“Really?” I snapped. “You’re fucking demon, master of the masses of the damned, with strength and abilities far beyond what the billions of your tortured souls have ever known, and you can’t figure a fucking way out of here?”
“What?” he asked weakly, cowering before my rage.
I slapped him in the face. “Think, you moron!” I ordered him. The door trembled with another terrifying impact. Parts of the wood appeared to be splintering. Azraal’s impotent face was sitting on the ground, loudly threatening to kill me in the most disgusting and creative ways I’d ever heard.
“Think?” Torvin whimpered, rubbing the raw spot on his cheek where I’d just struck him. “What do you mean?”
“You can fucking teleport!” I reminded him.
He appeared to have some kind of minor epiphany, or maybe some kind of minor stroke. “Oh,” he breathed. “Yeah, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, it seems so obvious now, right?” I said dryly. “Listen, take Gavsot and teleport back to my office. I’ll meet you there with Azraal’s head.”
He nodded fearfully as the door crunched behind us.
I gripped him tightly by the shoulder and looked him directly in the eyes. “Torvin,” I asked, “I can count on you to do this, right?”
He nodded again.
“Great,” I said. “Now go.”
He wrapped his arms around Gavsot’s limp body and they both disappeared.