As Halkkor approached me with prudent caution and palpable malice, Gavsot appeared next to me, sword in hand.
“Hey,” I said breathlessly. I kept my eyes on the hulking King of Lucifer’s Firstborn as I spoke to my general. “I hope you’re here to help.”
He nodded. “It appeared that you needed some,” he said simply.
“Definitely,” I said. “Would have been better if you’d appeared behind him, though,” I added. “You know, since he’s so focused on me. Might not notice you.” I kept hinting until I was positive that Gavsot understood me. I was pretty sure that Halkkor couldn’t hear our exchange over all the shouts and grunts and screams. I hoped it looked like Gavsot was giving me a battle update or something.
“That would be better,” he agreed. I nodded at him and he disappeared again, only to materialize a few feet behind our enemy.
Still weaponless, I looked around frantically for a physical object I could use to defend myself. I spotted a sword that had been dropped by a slain demon a short distance away and quickly brought it to my hand with telekinetic urgency. I gripped it with both hands, gritted my teeth and gave Halkkor my best glare. I scowled at him like a cleanup hitter trying to stare down the opposing pitcher. Apparently my non-verbal “come at me, bro” worked, because Halkkor’s eyes, still emitting thin ribbons of smoke from their earlier blaze, narrowed angrily.
“Okay, you ugly bastard,” I growled, although probably not loudly enough for him to hear. “Let’s do this.”
Gavsot, a few feet behind him, raised his blade to strike.