Out in the hall, Rodrigo could hear that throughout the house, all the music had died. Someone quick on their feet had also turned off the lights, hoping to give the impression that the building was as abandoned as the rest of the block. But even if it wasn’t already too late to deceive the demons, they would be able to sense all the humans packed in here, ripe for the picking. Was it pure coincidence that they were here of all places, as attracted to the noise and spectacle of the evening as everyone else? Or was this a second hit squad from Vicearia, sent after Resent, and by extension, him, to make up for the failure of the first?

  People were hunkering down and trading harsh whispers, several scared faces lit by the blue light from their phone screens. By this point, even drunk teenagers were wise to when a demon attack was in progress. It seemed to have a sobering effect on most, though, those far gone enough, like Jett, were still passed out. Bad as his timing was, it was for the best. Running super-fast while intoxicated was a recipe for disaster.

  As Rodrigo made his way to the top of the staircase, down in the first-floor hallway, in the meager light pouring in from the street, he saw much more panic. Kids were crying, praying, calling their loved ones to say goodbye, and probably all wishing they had felt antisocial tonight. One dangerously misinformed guy had rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and was spreading salt everywhere, that would be as unsuccessful a deterrent as a cross or holy water.

  Adena was hurrying up the steps, practically kneeing the now right to be paranoid stoners out of her path, with Valerie trailing behind her.

  “How many?” Rodrigo asked.

  He had been talking to Adena, but Valerie answered, “More than fifty.”

  There was too much else going on for him to wonder why she was so calm, or why she had such a specific headcount. Though he would’ve liked to believe if she was anything other than human, he would’ve picked up on it while sitting next to her, he tried to read her. But his energy sense was being overloaded by the number of demons outside. Fifty was conservative.

  “Rodrigo, stop,” Adena whispered, placing a hand on his chest as he started down the stairs. “This isn’t the time for your hero complex. I would say we should grab Leila and Jett, and get out of here, but I know you wouldn’t listen. At least this building is somewhat defensible while we wait for the Negation Force to show up. Going out there right now is suicide.”

  Rodrigo had long accepted Adena’s, at times, callous nature, because despite it, she had never tried to stop he and Jett from helping people. Moreover, without her they wouldn’t be in a position to do so. He slipped off his ruined right glove, stuffing it into his vest pocket. “There are hundreds of kids outside, some haven’t even hit puberty yet, and you expect me to leave them to die? Not happening.”

  He continued forward and Adena grabbed him by his left wrist. From her cupped hand, there was a faint orange glow in the darkness, as she burned through his sleeve and his skin beneath.

  “Ow! What the hell are you doing?” Rodrigo demanded, ripping out of her grasp. Because of his rising voice, their conversation, largely ignored until now, was starting to draw attention.

  “Look at it,” Adena ordered, and he did. The small patch of skin she had burned was red and just beginning to swell. “That’s a first-degree burn. An injury so minor that with Resent’s regeneration, it would have already been on the mend as we were discussing it. Now, imagine how long it’s going to take wounds inflicted by enemies that are trying to kill you to heal. What difference do you think you’ll make against those numbers without Resent?”

  Apathy to the loss of human life aside, she had a point, as usual. He had never fought a demon without Resent as a crutch to lean on. If not waiting on the bench to step in when Rodrigo faltered, he was there to grudgingly provide centuries of information and strategy, or at least share his invaluable regeneration, which Rodrigo would’ve died countless times without.

  A slight tremble was coursing through his limbs, and his first thought was that it was from fear. A fear of death that hadn’t concerned him in months. But then he recognized the underlying exhilaration. This was his chance to see what he could do without relying on Resent. A state he’d eventually find himself in permanently.

  There was a sudden thump at the door that pulled Rodrigo out of his thoughts, and for the first time, he saw that Kevin, the impromptu doorman, was bracing himself against it. He was a big guy. Bigger than Ted even, so he must have believed he could hold it.

  Rodrigo tried to yell some sense into him. “Get away from the door! Your weight won’t—”

  An impact broke the door off its hinges, blowing it inward, and crushing Kevin against the wall behind it with a crack. A pack of Dreadhounds burst into the hall, ruling this out as part of Semiazas’ assassination plot, and causing kids who had barely been keeping it together to start screaming, as they scattered.

  Before Adena could try to stop him, Rodrigo generated his curved sword made from the nebulae in his left hand, three feet long from point to crescent pommel, and leapt from the staircase. As he descended, he whirled the black blade around, plunging it through the skeletal mask and into the skull of the hound in the lead, pinning its carcass to the floor at his feet. Then he thrust his right hand out, the fingers elongating into spiked tendrils that stabbed out for the rest. His middle and ring finger each skewered a hound from maw to tail. But the reaction of the remaining hounds was quicker, as they darted backward, out the gaping doorway.

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  “Anyone who wants to live through the night, get upstairs!” Rodrigo shouted. At least up there, their biggest concern would be flying demons breaking in through the windows. But whether because they were in awe or frightened at the sight of him splattered with demon blood, illuminated by moonlight, no one moved. So Rodrigo raised his voice over the screaming inside the house and out, pointing at Kevin’s corpse. “Do you all want to end up like him? Go! Now!”

  That got people moving, as a stampede broke out for the staircase. He wished he had time to better prepare them. To tell them to turn on the lights, because they were only succeeding in scaring themselves more. To urge them to stay away from the windows. And to have the strongest among them barricade the top of the stairs with furniture to slow the demons on foot. But he’d have to leave all that to Adena. If she was feeling sociable, it shouldn’t be a problem with as skilled as she was at commanding the clueless.

  When Rodrigo stepped outside, any excitement he may have felt about testing his limits evaporated. The biggest reason so many survived the invasion was because the demons were cruel and conceited enough to toy with their victims. Evil as that seemed at the time, in hindsight, if not for their sadistic nature, the casualties would have been far greater.

  Now, the demons were mowing people down as if their lives depended on it. None of the typical savage joy was visible in their features, faces contorted with fury, as they chased after terrified kids. In the minutes it had taken Rodrigo to get out here, at least a hundred bodies had piled up in the streets. The pungent stench of spilled life and charred flesh wafted through the night air.

  For a moment, Rodrigo stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by revulsion and uncertainty. How had they even penetrated this far into the city without the Negation Force noticing? They had to be at least a few miles from the Spiral. Was it another ability suited for infiltration like the Blight of Vicearia’s shrinking, or were these demons that had gone to ground, somehow managing to hide in the shadows of their society all this time?

  Of Resent, Adena, and even Jett, Rodrigo knew he was the least cut out for fighting a mob like this. He didn’t have some big, devastating technique, or the speed to outmaneuver multiple enemies at once. But in spite of those failings, according to Resent, he had seen more combat in these five months than most demons did in five years. And he must have killed more of them than the average demon did in a lifetime, or their species would have gone extinct. Even if he didn’t survive to see tomorrow, he would make them regret this atrocity.

  Rodrigo took a steadying breath, using the nebulae to drag the house’s broken door across the floor toward him, and slamming it back into place. There wasn’t much point, what with the first floor’s accessible windows and back door, but he at least wanted to make it less inviting.

  Then he threw himself into the fray. Most of the demons were distracted, engrossed in sating their bloodlust, and made easy prey for a weightless blade that had been sharp enough to penetrate Misery’s royal armor. He aimed for their necks, slicing through metal, muscle, and sinew, lopping off head after head, the surest way to kill a demon.

  Before his eyes, an imp lit a blond girl on fire, and so he seized the creature’s barbed tail, pulling it toward the point of his blade, impaling it. Within seconds, he snuffed out the flames that were consuming the girl with the nebulae, but she was already dead. Further proof of how off-kilter these demons were, the most mischievous of races, usually more interested in harassing and humiliating humans, just straight up immolated one, robbing itself of any amusement. Was this revenge for their allies that had met their match against the Negation Force?

  Rodrigo’s rampage wasn’t able to continue unabated for long, as how much of a threat he was dawned on the demons. And there was little most of their kind despised more than a half-breed, often murdering them in their infancy. Dozens of demons paused in their slaughter to regard him with unblinking, malevolent eyes.

  Covered in dark blood, surrounded by the corpses of human and demon alike, as adrenaline coursed through him, Rodrigo could feel his sanity slipping away, roaring, “Stop staring and come die, cowards!”

  Prideful beings that they were, they needed no further provocation. Berserk diavoliks, imps, and hounds surged at Rodrigo, abandoning the defenseless kids they had been pursuing, and focusing their psychotic rage on him. As his heart thundered in his chest, he took a stance, bending his knees slightly, and drawing his sword high and back. He kept his clawed hand low for a surprise attack.

  A scarlet blaze erupted from the concrete, walling him off from the advancing horde, and incinerating the demons unfortunate enough to be leading the charge. Rodrigo shrank back from the heat and glanced over his shoulder. Adena stood at the open second-floor window with her hand raised to the ceiling. Valerie knelt next to her, looking to be in prayer. He would’ve scoffed at the thought of a god with any compassion having ignored the invasion, deciding to interfere in this scuffle, but he appreciated the sentiment, and could use all the help he could get.

  Taking advantage of the smoke and confusion, he thinned and lengthened the nebulous arm into a chain, launching it to loop around a lamppost across the street. Dropping into a slide, he reeled himself through the dying embers and into the swarm of oncoming demons. With the momentum carrying him and his blade held out horizontally at his side, he severed legs from torsos, like a farmer cutting a swath through his field. Some of them might be able to regrow limbs, though, it would take even the fastest healers long enough that they would be out of commission for the rest of this fight.

  Rodrigo rose on the other side of the street with a few bruises and scrapes, though, nothing life-threatening. He and Adena had made a dent in their numbers, but he was already breathless. As much of a strain as forging the nebulae into his right arm was, molding them into the impossibly sharp sword was worse. This desperate, lethal way of fighting wasn’t sustainable, yet the longer their attention was on him, the closer to some form of safety the fleeing kids could get.

  But then pain exploded in his side as a foot rammed into his ribs. The kick sent him spinning backward. He barely had the presence of mind to dissipate his blade, and slam the nebulae into the ground, trying to propel himself onto one of the brownstone rooftops. Before he could get away, a thick, powerful tail coiled around his shin and smashed him into the sidewalk.

  Rodrigo was dazed by the speed and brutality of the assault. His ribs had been cracked and his minor injuries were worsening by the second. He tried to stand, but the same padded foot that had kicked him, stepped on his throat, effortlessly pinning him to the ground.

  A romalkin, a red-furred feline standing on two muscular legs, loomed over him.