Lincoln moves into battle stance: feet wide apart, his long-sword raised high. “That’s not going to happen, buddy.”
With lightning speed, the demon raises its arm to strike Lincoln. I get ready to leap into a counter-attack. However, the demon does something unexpected. It stops, actually freezing in place for a few seconds. After that, its crushed-glass eyes begin to glow with demonic fire.
Lincoln and I share a confused look. That’s strange. Durus demons are one of the few breeds whose eyes don’t light up.
The Durus rounds on me. “Show me how you move souls, Great Scala.” With clunky movements, he rips a length of conveyor belt off the floor and chucks it at me; I easily leap out of the way. The broken machinery lands on the floor with a room-shaking crash. The Durus takes a lumbering step closer. “Fight me like you fought Armageddon.”
I frown, considering. Two months ago, I blasted Armageddon and his ghoul cronies out of Purgatory. It took a bit to figure out my brand-spanking-new igni power, but eventually, I trapped the King of Hell in a Soul Column. I can still picture him howling with bone-crunching rage as he plummeted under the earth, to be forever locked into Hell. Fun times.
Beside me, Lincoln speaks in a low voice. “Your call, Myla. If you send him back to Hell, he’ll be locked down there forever, but he’ll still be alive.”
“That’s true.” However, I can’t move any souls right now, so I’ve been itching to use my igni. “But I could use the practice with my powers.” I turn to the demon. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I raise my arms high above my head. Closing my eyes, I reach out with my thoughts to the dark igni, the tiny bolts of power and light that transport evil souls to Hell. Come to me, my little ones. Instantly, their grating voices fill my mind, a cacophony of rasps and whispers that only I can hear.
Opening my eyes, I watch the tiny white lightning bolts materialize before my outstretched palms. More come into existence, soaring and diving about my hands like tiny silver fish. Soon, hundreds have arrived, their bodies making intricate flow-patterns that wind up my arms.
My sweet igni. A sense of peace and power rolls through me. I am the Great Scala, and this is what I’m meant to do.
Sensing the igni’s power, the Durus leans back on its heels, beating his chest with his great fists. Opening his piston-mouth, the demon lets out another ear-splitting roar.
At the sound of this cry, my inner wrath demon kicks into high gear, electrifying my nervous system with rage. Time to go home, buddy. I lower my arms and command the igni to slide onto the floor and create a Soul Column, the vehicle that will send the Durus to Hell.
Only, the igni don’t move.
I frown, my forehead creased with confusion. This can’t be right.
The igni keep whirling around my arms. Inside my head, they start rasping out an odd song that makes me wince. I catch the words ‘dragon’ and ‘must get’ in there, but otherwise, it’s a bunch of nonsense.
I mentally command the igni with more force. It makes no difference. Their voices keep chattering away in their strange cacophony, their sounds faster and harsher by the second. Finally, I resort to speaking out loud, something I’ve never had to do before.
“I order you! Send the Durus to Hell!”
In reply, the igni’s song turns furious in its intensity. I’ve no idea what they’re saying anymore, only that the sounds are super-painful to hear. I set my hands over my ears. “Enough!”
Instantly, the igni disappear. It takes me a full minute to regain my focus and senses. Damn, those dark igni can take over your brain when they want to.
I scan the factory floor for Lincoln. He’s fighting the Durus, and probably has been for some time. The demon’s now missing a riveter-arm; half its face is gone. The Durus swings its remaining band-saw arm at Lincoln, who leaps away while changing his baculum into a net of white flame. Tossing it high, Lincoln encases the demon in his angelfire web.
A pause follows. In a moment that lasts forever, Lincoln and the Durus stare at each other. The demon’s face droops with an unasked question: what can this thrax possibly do with a net?
In one swift movement, Lincoln cinches the net-cords into a tight ball. The angelfire strands are razor-sharp, tearing easily through the demon, slicing its metal body into thousands of tiny shards. The bits tumble to the floor, softly jingling as they fall. The place where the demon once stood is now a shredded pile of scrap metal.
The Durus is dead.
I should cheer, but I’m still a little freaked out my impromptu igni concert.
Lincoln steps up to my side. “What happened? Are you alright?”