CHAPTER XVII

That was all the warning they had before something exploded through the front windows of the church.

Morgan reacted the quickest; he felt the pressure from outside, heard the rush of something huge and fast, smelled sulphur and something acrid – the stench of evil. Throwing aside the Glass, he grabbed Shalia and threw himself backwards over a desk and away from the bank of windows. He hadn’t seen Jude move, but hoped the man had mustered some kind of escape or defence.

He could only stare at the creature before them, frozen by something he had not felt in a very, very long time.

Terror.

This demon was not the same creature as before, the thing of pure flame that couldn’t quite settle on a single form. No, this was solid, corporeal – more beast than fire. A demon of leathery red skin, its joints – elbows, knees, spine, ribs, and even its head – enclosed by thick, rugged bone. Muscular and huge, it positioned itself on two powerful legs but was too tall to stand, although it was just as comfortable on four legs than two. A long leathery tail coiled by its thighs. The beast peered around the room with violent red eyes the colour of hellfire until its great white horns found Morgan in the corner.

It roared. The sound shattered any windows that remained. Morgan sheltered Shalia with his body, an instinctive reaction, but there was little he could do about an assault of sound. A great rush of heat followed with the creature’s bellow, turning the temperature of the church to sweltering.

A living hell.

‘Hey! You!’

The creature glanced down at one of its huge rear paws, which lay right in the centre of Jude’s magic circle – where the sigils were glowing bright. It growled and tried to step out of the circle, but its leg was stuck fast as though by glue.

‘Why don’t you shed that skin?’ said Jude from somewhere behind the beast. Coiling vines of purple magic erupted from the magic trap and encircled themselves around the creature. The demon snarled, shook its great horned head, strained with biceps larger than Morgan was tall, but couldn’t break free. Then it opened a massive maw packed with jagged, spiked teeth and screamed.

A blast of heat and flame erupted from between its teeth and eyes and shot across the room, well away from the magic circle. The creature in the trap diminished as the fire broke free, turning to ash as a humanoid form began to take shape at its other end.

A man emerged from the fire and smoke. He leaned against the back wall as the hellfire filled in the rest of him and took in a few heavy gulps of air. Wrath was sweat-drenched and young, in his early twenties, all brown skin and curly black hair. Black tattoos of twisting, elusive shapes cloaked his powerful, muscular arms. He was in nothing but a dirty white shirt and jeans despite the winter chill. When he met Morgan’s gaze, his orange eyes burned with pure, unbridled hatred.

‘Shit!’ Jude quickly began to work new sigils in the air. Shalia stumbled to her feet, ears bleeding red, and trained her Austere on Wrath.

Morgan swallowed and got carefully to his feet, eardrums already healed. Wrath warily watched it happen.

‘God, I know you,’ said Morgan.

Shalia fired her gun – a bolt of orange aimed for Wrath’s chest. Wreathing his arm in flame, Wrath brushed the shot to the side.

And with a rush of heat and motion Wrath was no longer standing by the back wall.

Morgan glanced to the side.

He hadn’t even seen him move.

Wrath held Shalia by the throat against a window bracket, arm transformed into something huge and leathery and burning hot. Shaking from the strain, Shalia gasped and trained the Austere on Wrath –

And squeezed off a shot.

Again, with his other arm, Wrath brushed it off.

Bright, neon-violet coils dove across the room from Jude’s magic circle, aimed for Wrath. With his monstrous arm still pinning Shalia to the wall, Wrath swept his arm across the church before the vines could penetrate and a wall of hellfire erupted into life. Morgan could no longer see Jude on the other side.

They were on their own.

Morgan drew his Austere and trained the barrel on the back of Wrath’s head. He fired. Three electric-blue shots burst ineffectually into flame as they struck Wrath’s back.

Shalia scrabbled to break Wrath’s grip, mouth agape and dribbling saliva, visibly choking. Morgan’s eyes caught on her hands, where the tips of the fingers of her right hand were blistered and red.

Wrath peered over his shoulder. ‘That’s naughty,’ he drawled. ‘You gonna’ kill me, Morgan?’

Morgan tossed his gun to the side.

And put his arms up slowly in surrender.

‘This is between you and me,’ he said. ‘Please let her go, Rollo.’