"Come on, come on! There are no demons around right now, you all need to hurry up!" Amos called out to the civilians he and Ulrich were escorting.
"It feels wrong," Ulrich muttered, cutlasses drawn and held ready as his eyes swept the streets. "Where are the demons?"
"Who knows, but it doesn't matter," Amos replied, scanning the surroundings as well. One of his steam-revolvers was already in his hand, finger close to the trigger, ready to put a round through the first demon that showed itself. "This is the perfect window to get these people out."
"Do you think it has something to do with that thing in the sky?" Ulrich asked, glancing upward despite the way the rift made his stomach knot.
"Maybe," Amos said. "What I do know is that it is making this harder."
Ever since the rift opened, people froze in place, slowed to a crawl, or backed away outright. He could not blame them. Both the Bounty Hunter and the Bandit Lord had locked up the first time they saw it too. Still, when you were trying to move a few dozen civilians through the streets of a city under demonic invasion, patience wore thin fast.
Amos spotted a boy—no more than twelve—lagging at the rear of the group, barely managing to take a step at a time. He moved back toward him.
"Come on," Amos said, crouching slightly. "Where are your parents? Stay close to them and keep moving."
The boy looked up, eyes red and swollen from crying. "G-g-gone," he stammered. "M-mom a-and da-dad are gone."
Amos let out a quiet sigh and reached down, taking the boy's hand. "Alright then. Hold on to me, and let us move."
The boy nodded, gripping his hand tightly as they rejoined the group.
Ulrich saw the exchange and took it as his cue to move ahead, positioning himself at the front again. "Goddess," he muttered under his breath, "this all feels like a very long nightmare."
They were far from the coliseum now—still about fifteen minutes away at the pace they were being forced to keep.
---
Wolf walked at the front, one hand resting on the wolf-shaped pommel of his sword. Behind him, the twins watched him closely, while Drack kept his attention on the civilians they were guiding toward the coliseum.
"Zee," Mae whispered into her twin's pointed elven ear, "do you think he is human? Or a demi-human?"
"I do not know," Zee whispered back. "But he is definitely not a regular person."
*I can hear you,* Wolf thought flatly. *And it should be obvious that I am human… hmm... but maybe not. Whatever. There is not much point thinking about it.*
His hand tightened around the pommel of his sword.
*After I get them to safety, I am going to cut that Demon Lord to pieces. And I am also going to find out why Sarandel is here.*
---
Prince Mark and Clara led Hittag and Gurion through the streets, their pace pushed as hard as it could be with Hittag's injured legs slowing them down.
"It feels wrong, leaving him behind," the giant man muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground as he walked.
"We had no other choice," Prince Mark replied, eyes forward, constantly scanning for movement or threats. "And even if we did, how exactly were we supposed to bring a demon with us?"
"It is all my fault," Gurion said quietly, teeth sinking into his lip. "If I had pulled my weight, none of you would have needed to come save us."
Hittag exhaled and reached out, giving Gurion a firm pat on the back. "Do not blame yourself for being unable to fight demons. It is not something you trained for. It was not expected of you, or anyone."
"But everyone else besides me was able to do it…" Gurion whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Clara had not spoken a single word.
Her thoughts were still trapped in that moment—Xain running ahead, the firebolt striking him, and then a demon standing where he had been. *What was that? Is he dead? Replaced? What even happened?* Her arms wrapped around herself as she walked. *How am I supposed to face his friends? I failed to protect him… Please. Just be alright.*
---
Xain panted, hands braced against his knees. "Ugh… why am I so tired?" he muttered, glancing down at himself. "Is my body still recovering from the tournament? Darn you, Ercale. Why could you not heal me before all of this?"
He straightened and started walking instead of running. He was fairly sure he had put enough distance between himself and Arkanis, who seemed to have actually been knocked out by the Demon of Hatred's final strike. The streets around him were deserted, eerily silent. He had gone the opposite direction of the others—meeting up would take too long.
"I really hope the alleys are not blocked," he muttered as he turned into one, aiming for what should have led him toward the coliseum. As long as it was clear.
It was quiet for only a moment.
Low, impish snarls echoed from deeper within the alley.
Xain froze. *Crap.*
He began to turn around, only for something heavy to land behind him. The alleyway was suddenly blocked as a drakorath stepped in, a half-eaten body hanging from its grasp. It dropped the corpse and roared, wrist blades extending with a wet, metallic slide.
"Oh, come on!" Xain snapped, lifting his fists as he swallowed hard.
He could hear the imps now, closing in from behind. A drakorath in front, who knew how many imps at his back. He was ready to use the Hatred just to break free—
Then another sound cut through the alley.
An engine.
It grew louder by the second. All eyes turned upward as a bike launched from the rooftop above. A masked figure rode it down, gauntlets tipped with serrated claws gleaming as The Fiend crashed down onto the drakorath.