The care with which he’d chosen the building was rewarded. Inside, there were almost forty demons all congretated in the center room. Though the factory was a hollowed carcass of what it used to be, some of the machinery still remained, coated in dust and disuse.
The demons caught a whiff of him and all hell broke loose, but it was exactly what he’d been hoping for. A free-for-all. A festival of killing and maiming. Blood flew, bodies hit the cement with ominous thuds, and every kill made him feel more alive than the one before. He slashed an opening in the throat of a scaled onyx demon as he spun around to plunge the knife into the temple of a demon with the traditional forehead ridges of the Upper Ranking Demons. A kick to the chest of the first sent it sprawling backward, a fountain of ichor and black blood bursting upward like a geyser, splitting the scales open as if it was trying to scream through the gorge in its throat.
Claws raked at him but nothing touched him. He was faster than he’d ever been, more aware of every iota of movement in every direction than he had even imagined was possible. A tickle of air on the back of his neck warned him of an attack and he was facing the horned demon before it had completed it’s leap at him. His knife was in his belt as his hands clasped around the demon’s head and twisted hard enough to sever it from the body. He threw it, horns first, at another demon, using as much force as his body could muster up, and was thrilled to see it actually cut through the demon’s chest.
Graeme laughed and plunged himself back into the fray.