Her left half felt heavy, numb. She gritted her teeth against the pain and rose to her feet. The motorcycle had already skidded to a stop, its rider hopping out, a shotgun in hand. From the way the younger woman held herself, it was clear she was no stranger to battle.
“Get back. I’ll deal with this,” commanded the rider.
Lunafreya shook her head in protest. This stranger was helping her when she could have kept going. If she hadn’t stopped, she might have gotten away safely. Lunafreya owed it to her to help fight.
“What, you gonna give me a hand, then?”
Lunafreya nodded. “Yes. I can fight.”
Inside, her confidence hardly measured up to her words. Would she truly be able to help against a daemon so ferocious? Still, she felt that she had to fight. The stranger might know how to hold her own, but she’d not yet witnessed the strength and terror of this daemon as Lunafreya had. This was not an opponent that could be taken down alone, without the aid of comrades.
To Lunafreya’s relief, the branch from the gravesite had rolled to a stop at her feet. Picking it up and hanging on to it had seemed somewhat silly at the time; now she thanked her past self from the bottom of her heart. But when she bent to retrieve it, the stranger gave a snort of disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.
“You’re gonna fight using that?” the stranger continued. “Is your head on straight? Look, just don’t get in my way, all right?”
Lunafreya recalled her lessons. Years ago, as part of her training as Oracle, she’d learned how to fight with a polearm. She gripped her branch, adopting the proper stance for a spear, readying herself for the coming battle.
Just do as you were taught, she told herself. Imagine that this branch is the Trident.
“Here it comes!” the stranger shouted.
A report from the shotgun drowned out Lunafreya’s response. The massive, writhing black form twisted in the air. Lunafreya jabbed at it with the branch, aiming for the incoming claws. She felt her blow land, then thrust again. Once more, she felt it firmly connect. Her hits were landing. She was helping―or so she thought. Then too many things were happening at once, and when she could again make sense of the world, it was her own body sprawled across the ground rather than the daemon’s.
She scrambled to her feet, flustered. The shotgun sounded again, from mere steps away. The daemon’s movements were unbelievably swift, and little of the weapon’s shot was finding its mark. Lunafreya leveled her branch and charged once more. If she could grab the daemon’s attention, she might provide her ally with an opening. Even a single moment might be enough.
A shock ran up both her arms and she let out a short cry of surprise. The branch, which should have been firmly in her grip, was spiraling away through the air, and the daemon’s claws were swiping in.
“No!” she cried out loud. And in her mind, I don’t want to die! I refuse to. Not here. Not without any answers! Not without managing to help!
Lunafreya flung both arms forward. She knew it was a futile gesture. This wasn’t some harmless beast that might be driven away with her bare hands. And yet she stretched forth her arms anyway, filled with all her will and determination not to give in to death.
She braced for the pain of being shredded apart, vividly recalling the agony she’d experienced before at the threshold of death. She shut her eyes.
The sensation that arrived was something else entirely.
“Shouldn’t I be . . . ?” she whispered to herself.
It was not pain. It was more of a tingling sensation, running from her fingertips up through her arms. When Lunafreya opened her eyes, the daemon was shrinking back, writhing as if in pain of its own.
“What happened?”
More reports from the shotgun, and the daemon’s accompanying roars of pain shook the surrounding dimness. It seemed she’d somehow succeeded in stopping the daemon’s movements, but she wasn’t quite sure how. It was all beyond comprehension.
But she decided to try once more. Whatever it was she’d done, she had some idea of the sensation that had accompanied it, and a vague sense of how to make it happen again. The daemon hung in the air, its motions slowed. She moved in close, fighting back the fear. This was not a time to hesitate. She extended her right hand, mind focused on the tips of her fingers.
Remember what you felt, she commanded herself, but there was hardly a need. It came again almost automatically. The same puzzling force flowed freely through her arm. There was no need to coax it forth―if anything, it was smothering, overbearing, as if with a will of its own. And now with it came a clear, deep ache, spreading from her chest to the pit of her stomach. Lunafreya held her breath and weathered the pain.
The gun sounded several more times, and the daemon was writhing on the ground. Its features began to blur.
We’re defeating it, Lunafreya thought to herself. It’s almost over.
The sensation in her arms shifted. Before, it was as if something was flowing through them. Now it was a far more disturbing feeling, as if hundreds of tiny insects were crawling about beneath her skin. A guttural noise tried to force its way through her gritted teeth.
The daemon continued to squirm on the ground. Just a little more, and it would be gone. There was a grating screech, like metal against metal. She’d see this monster dead. She swore it to herself.
“Hey!” the stranger shouted. “Ease up! You’re gonna get yourself killed!”
Lunafreya ignored the words of caution and stretched her hands toward the daemon once more. She steeled herself against a growing nausea.
The stranger yelled, “Above you!”
Lunafreya looked up. The claws were bearing down. Too close. She wouldn’t be able to avoid them this time. The bluish-white scythes gouged deep into her upper arm. The pain ripped through her, an experience far worse than the crawling in her skin. And then, mere moments after delivering the devastating wound, the daemon dispersed into a spray of black particles. It was defeated.
The threat finally vanquished, Lunafreya’s tensed muscles relaxed. But her relief was cut short by another wave of crushing pain. She fell to her knees.
“Are you all right?!” the stranger shouted.
Lunafreya nodded a lie. No, she was not all right, not in any sense of the words. The agony of her wound consumed her. Bile rose in her throat.
“Hang on. I’ll find something to stop the bl―”