I let the Firstborn blade slip from my hand. Had I been a little more alert, I might have thought to hold onto it, but clenching my fingers around its shaft seemed too strenuous. I focused what little psychic power I had at my disposal on healing my wounds. This was the second time I'd been close to death in the last few minutes. If indignation wouldn't have been so emotionally and physically taxing, I probably would have been whining about how annoying it all was.
Or perhaps I'd be commenting that I never expected being the Devil would involve so much healing. It's a position usually associated with evil and destruction and the deprivation of life instead of the prolonging of life. But it was all I could do to keep my eyes open and seal up the puncture wound in my shoulder, so any reflection on irony would have to come later.
Talamur, Jaelin and Sylnie were horribly outmatched. Talamur was powerful and resourceful, but he was carrying a near-comatose devil. Sylnie was loyal and increasingly brave, but her powers were underdeveloped and she'd probably lose a one-on-one fight with any single demon facing us. Jaelin was strong and unhindered, but that still gave our team only one capable badass. The opposition had almost fifty capable badasses.
My mojo was dangerously low and Sylnie hadn't yet mastered teleportation, so if we decided to make a run for it, Jaelin would have to take both of us herself. That's assuming we fled back to Hell, in which case Talamur wouldn't be able to follow us because of his banishment spell. We'd have to stay somewhere in the Living Realm if we expected to regroup.
Azraal's demons were forming a circle around us, limiting our choices to teleportation and annihilation. Kezin looked positively ravenous for some good old-fashioned bloodshed.
"We have to run," Jaelin said.
"Agreed," Talamur replied. "Where should we be meeting?"
Jaelin was about to respond when a narrow column of yellow light beamed down from above and deposited another figure in the center of the circle of demons.