“HOLD!” roared Captain Sullivan.

Hector’s magic imbued arrows flight true at the mark, struck the demonic boar’s shoulder. But the erupted flames only enraged the demon. Its charge threw lesser demons away and sent them crashing the shield wall. But grinding their teeth, the knights stood their ground. They braced for the coming impact. Their bones vibrated in sync with each beat of hoofs thundering the tunnels.

It hit with a deafening force. The shields bent. The knights’ enhanced muscles gave out and they toppled on their back. The beast trampled on them. Two of the knights were buried in the ground under its feet. The rest were hurled away by the enormous body.

Now only four knights were standing behind the fallen line. The captain, the twins and Hector.

The twins were quickly on their nimble feet, right at the demon’s approach. They avoided the tusks just in time and flattened themselves onto the wall, one on each side narrowly escape the charge.

Hector, however, was limited for option. He stood too close to its charge to escape to the side in time. His magic buckle would obviously useless against it. Feeble spells were of no use either. He could only flee. Such desperate a race. Scarcely he made two or three steps then a great leap, as far away as possible, to delay the lethal impact for just as long.

As Hector made his pitiful attempt of a retreat, he saw the captain passed by him from the opposite direction.

Captain Sullivan’s greatsword raised high, he charged with a battle cry.

In the split second when Hector met the floor, he turned to look. And at that very moment, the beast halted as if hesitating. It cried, but in pain. Within a heartbeat, the captain plunged his greatsword deep into its skull. His hands sunk into the black fur. Disgusting goo blurted out. Then he leapt off the collapsing beast.

The demon fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Its body spasmed violently as death settled in. Stood triumphant to each side of the demon were the twins. Their swords were broken and yanked from their hands, but apparently, in the brief moment when the demon passed by them, both had slashed its hind legs, which were skinnier than the fore ones.

The big slump of flesh occupied a part of the tunnel-like a hairy mound. All around it, the knights who were still alive crawled to their feet, battered. Lying on the ground, the beast proved no more threats. But seeing again clearly its size, the survivors knew with wild eyes that death had missed them by a hair.

The shock of the great peril had hardly passed, but the battle was far from over.

A soft hiss drew their heads to the pile of fallen demons. One of them rose from the dead bodies of its brethren. Its right arm dangled uselessly. The demon turned and dashed into the darkness.

“Stand!” commanded captain Sullivan to all knights. Despite his heavy breath, he sunk his both hands in the demon’s skull once more and fished out his greatsword. “All those can stand, stand!"

“You! Stayed with the wounded and the dead,” he pointed at a limping knight who was still somewhat in one piece. “As for the rest, we chase after it. Hector, you track it.”

Two deaths, one lost his leg. Another stayed behind. With that, six remaining knights readied to press on forward: the captain, the twins, Hector and two more knights.

“This damn night is still young,” grumbled Sullivan.

“Press on the wound with this, and keep him hydrated,” before he went, Hector quickly instructed the knight who was ordered to wait behind. He gave away a third of the samosa leaves in his pouched then rushed for the trace of the demon.

Once again, they plunged into darkness with only a faint light to illuminate the way. Leading them, Hector tracked the trail of blood. His eyes were keener than most, but under the mountain, dense was the blackness.

As they pressed on, claustrophobic dread fell on them. The tunnel seemed to run ever deeper and now downwards without any sign of ever turning up again. They saw many forks in the dark. The demon did not hesitate at any of them, it seemed to have a clear destination in mind. Hector knew they were on the right track, for occasionally, wails could be heard from far ahead.

At last, the tunnel widened. Hector whispered a spell and his light burned brighter so that it grew and illuminate the ceiling now stretched taller than before. The demon’s noise was closer and they knew the end of the tunnel was near, perhaps a dead end.

Then there it was, the ugly thing. Its bloody skin seemed bleached under the faint light from somewhere above. It stood menacingly in a spacious area, with ceiling tall. On the other side of the room, blocked by the demon was a steel door seven feet high.

At the knights’ approach, the demon stood with its right arm limping, waiting, observing, and unmoving.

“What manner of clumsy trap is this?” asked a Fahlecain. Even as he spoke, Fahlecain drew a dagger from his pocket. He took aim and flung the thing hard. With a noisy impact, the dagger split the demon’s head in two.

“Keep your eyes open,” said the captain.

Then captain Sullivan paced the length of the room to the steel door, the rest followed. But before he could reach it, a wall burst open.

Came flowing in the room roars and armed people. Armed with swords and axes and hammer, but in plain clothes instead of armored.

Standing closest to them, the captain was the first they came upon. Barely a moment passed since he noticed them from the corner of his eyes and drew his sword. So the first of the cambions fell, head and body apart.

The knights rushed in actions. But Hector was the quickest of them all. He lashed on one cambion. Its unarmored flesh and bones gave out without much resistance, and down it collapsed like a rag doll.

The rest of the knights had it almost as easily. The cambions’ skills with weaponry were mediocre at best, and they possessed only little more strength than humans.

It was a massacre. Clumsy sword and axe strikes gazed over the knights’ solid armor. In contrast, the Fahlecain twins fell into combat like wolves among sheep, with each move, they shed dark oozing blood from the cambion’s deep wounds. One after another, the half-demons fell.

Until there was only one left standing. This cambion was frail and thinner than others. It had long grey hair and wrinkles covered its face. It resembled a pitiful old man, but its pupils were in the deep color of red.

Captain Sullivan hit it with the flat side of his greatsword, then as it bent over in pain, he gave it a kick in the gut and sent it flying. Among the tattered body of its brethren on the ground, the old cambion whimpered, its scarlet eyes shut hard in suffering. There, captain Sullivan grabbed its neck and brought its face to the level of his owns.

“Speak, if you know how, maggot,” said captain Sullivan, “how many more behind that door? How many demons? Speak if you desire a quick death!”

But the thing only groaned and choked in its throat. It would not speak.

“Hold it,” the captain shoved the old thing at a knight, then faced the steel door, “there might be more of its friends inside. Be ready.”