Nero threw himself backward, the axe blade slamming into the stone where his chest had been, the impact sending fragments of rock flying with one of them cutting a line across his cheek.
Blood ran down his face, dripping onto the hazy floor.
Rummel Abellion, in its twisted glory, inhaled deeply, as if savoring a pleasant aroma.
"Yes," the Angel breathed. "Yes, that is perfect. Keep bleeding, boy. Spill your blood for me."
Nero scrambled to his feet, backing toward the pool. Arthur and Jacob followed, both of them bleeding now from multiple wounds. Arthur's enchanted sword dripped thick with crimson while Jacob's face was a mask of blood from the reopened gash on his forehead.
And above them, Rummel Abellion watched. Although he could not see its true countenance, Nero could tell the damned thing was watching them with evident satisfaction, like a crowd roaring with spittle flying at a pit filled with fighting dogs or barbarians tearing at throats and ripping out spines.
