Let’s do this.
Moving in sync, the two of us leap atop of the balcony railing, balance for a moment, and then make the long jump down to the chamber’s floor. As we move, the fiery whip-line between us slices straight through the frost golems. The guardians roar with rage when they see us approach, only to have their torsos slowly slip forward as they fall to the floor, lifeless. Once their ice-blue bodies split, they immediately begin to melt.
But there’s no time to appreciate the beauty of a frost golem getting its due. Lincoln and I race across the chamber floor with one goal in mind.
Kill Armageddon.
Aldred scampers across the stairs, hiding his bulky body behind Adair’s frail form. “Protect me, daughter.”
What a piece of work.
Lincoln and I extinguish our baculum and race like blazes, reaching the base of the stairs in seconds. Armageddon leans back in his chair and chuckles. “I was wondering when you’d come to visit. Though, honestly, I thought it would be an army.” He taps his chin dramatically. “Want something?”
My voice comes out with just the right level of menace. “Hand him over.”
“Never,” snarls Armageddon. “You think I have only frost golems here to protect me?”
With those words, Onyx’s corpse springs to life, moving in jerky motions down the stairs. She raises her arms toward Lincoln and I, and makes a classic mummy ‘uuhhhhh’ sound.
“Mumsy has an excellent kill record, by the way. No one’s lasted more than twenty seconds against her dead body.”
“Really?” I ask. “What’s Mumsy going to do, exactly? Hum us to death?”
Onyx lets out another low groan. The black wrappings whip off her right arm, zooming in my direction. The strips wind tightly around my throat, choking off my breath. At the same time, the wrappings from Onyx’s left arm loop around Lincoln’s torso, preventing him from accessing his baculum.
I pull at the wrapping around my neck, but there’s no give. My lungs burn for air.
Onyx stands a few yards away, her left arm tethered to Lincoln’s torso, while her right arm holds the line about my throat. Her head lists to one side, and I swear I can see a smile beneath her wrappings.
Armageddon rises from his chair and limps down the steps toward Lincoln. “I’ve so looked forward to the day when I could consume your soul.” He eyes Lincoln from head to toe. “Wrap up his feet too, Mumsy. I don’t want him running away.”
Onyx’s head twitches, and another wrapping-strip shoots out from her arm, this time binding Lincoln’s ankles. I try to run toward him, but the strip around my neck grows tighter as Onyx pulls me closer to her side. My lungs scream for air.
“That’s perfect, Mumsy.” Armageddon stalks closer to Lincoln. “Fortunately, I can still consume souls with my good hand.”
My wrath demon burns to life inside me. Maxon imprisoned? Lincoln’s soul destroyed? I’ve still got one good minutes of consciousness left, as well as my baculum. Those demons are going down.
What happens next takes seconds, but each one oozes by in agonizingly slow-motion. My next attack simply has to be perfect, or we’ll all wind up dead.
Quick as lightning, I ignite my baculum into a dagger, slicing through the bindings that choke me. I suck in deep breath right before fresh wrappings loop around my neck. Onyx lumbers toward me, her arms outstretched.
At this point, running won’t work, I’ll only tighten the choke hold on my neck. And cutting the bindings only buys me another breath. Instead, I need an entirely new approach. This time, the idea comes to me quickly.
A grenade. Oh, yeah.
To protect my hand, I pull the sleeve to my dragon-scale fighting suit over my left palm. Taking my baculum in my right, I imagine it filled with liquid angelfire that I then pour into my left hand, where I shape the flames into a grenade. Once my weapon’s complete, I toss it toward Onyx. The small explosive bursts by her feet, consuming her mummy wrappings in fire. A high-pitched screech sounds as her body chars and curls, withering into a burned-out husk. The hold around my neck crumbles. Lincoln breaks free from his bindings as well. Onyx shrivels into a pile of ash.
Killing Armageddon’s Mom? Nailed it.
The world starts moving again at regular speed as Armageddon lets out a great roar of rage. “How dare you?”
“Whips, Lincoln!” I yell.
Acting in unison, Lincoln and I reignite our baculum as whips, cracking the fiery cords toward Armageddon’s throat. The angelfire lines constrict the demon’s windpipe, choking him. Armageddon claws at his throat, his face contorted in anger.