Azraal threw his shoulder back roughly into Sylnie’s face as he kept his other arm steady, forcing his weapon toward my heart.
“Just another inch or two,” he taunted in a singsong voice. “Maybe I’ll drink some of your blood when you die. And if you come back, I’ll force some of mine down your throat.” I gurgled unintelligibly in response. “Good comeback,” he mocked.
He absorbed another of Sylnie’s tackles. “Can you call off your bodyguard?” he grunted. “That fat bitch is only delaying the inevitable and I’m worried about her blood pressure.”
Sylnie immediately wrapped one arm around Azraal’s throat. “I’m not fat!” she snarled indignantly. “I’m thick and curvy!” She demonstrated her contempt by sticking her fingers into Azraal’s eyes, Three Stooges style.
Azraal bellowed in rage and ripped her from his back with his free hand, sending her rolling across the grass. He’d lost a lot of progress with his knife, however, and as I gripped his wrist my arm was almost fully extended. Nostrils flaring, he glared at me and redoubled his efforts. My elbow began to bend further.
Jaelin and Kezin were locked in an intense one-on-one battle that would impress a seasoned MMA fighter. In the background, I saw Salabas do his signature move, felling at least a dozen demons with sunbeams erupting from his hands. He and Talamur were still outnumbered. The demons also seemed to have a group in reserve who casually dispatched any police or firemen who dared try to interfere with the mayhem. Sylnie was lying in a heap a few feet away, but she was still moving.
The muscles in my arm were burning. I could feel the entire limb giving out. Azraal’s blade loomed ever closer.