CRACK. CRACK. The bullets hit the Demon's legs, the arms, the torso. Each one drew blood. None of them stopped it.
The Demon walked forward. Through the bullets. Through the gunfire. Each step deliberate, unhurried, the patience of a creature that knew it could not be hurt by the weapon in my hand. The bullets were bee stings — annoying, painful, but not lethal. Not nearly lethal enough.
'His weapon — it is not working,' Mirra's internal voice was a shriek of terror. 'The bullets — they are not penetrating deep enough — the hide is too thick — we are going to die — we are going to—'
Elwen raised her wand. A bolt of green lightning — chain lightning, the Wand of Storms' basic attack — struck the Demon in the shoulder. The electricity crackled across its skin, dancing along the chains of its hammer, and the creature roared, swinging blindly.
"RRRRAAAAGHHH!!"
The swing caught the wall. Stone flew. The anteroom shook. A crack ran up the ceiling.
