Chapter 2

It was a scene out of the depths of the abyss, lit by demonflames. It was not a horde of demons, such as those infesting the Worldwound, a mere six of the great monstrosities facing one gallant figure. Four hung back, hulking dog headed humanoids more than thrice my height, with two great curving pincers and a pair of lesser clawed arms emerging from their wide torsos, intent on their diminutive foe, unleashing demonic magics that slid off her like lava against a red dragon's scales. One of their kin lay broken and in pieces on the cold stone floor, steaming innards and spilled unholy blood smoking acidic against the ground.

She was backed into a corner, facing two huge beings that made my very bones ache, my mouth dry with terror, waves of evil might and heat emanating from the towering balor, a huge winged fiend that seemed to personify demonkind with its terrifying fanged and horned visage, great flaming blade and darting whip in clawed hands. Next to it was a six-armed naga-woman who looked an avatar of malice, purple-burning eyes and elven-pointed ears focused on weaving a mesmerising web of bladed death. This marilith was not a common beast of the abyss, standing armored in glittering mithril chain mesh and adorned with enchanted bracers and rings, her swords crackling with power, her movements both powerful and fluidly graceful, reminding me of the best warriors I'd had the privilege to witness in practice and on the field.

For all that, the slim elven form, obsidian of skin, eyes sapphire blue and hair a shimmering silver, was standing against them proud and tall, backed into a corner but fighting with a will. In full plate armor of heavy black adamant, a thin crown of coiled mithril studded with white-starred blue gemstones holding her hair back, she wielded a greatsword as large as the balor's in gauntleted hands, and seemed to focus her ire on the flaming, hulking brute, using its bulk to occasionally shield her from the marilith's spinning blades, dealing it terrible wounds - her forceful parries evidence of supernatural strength, her wounds closing with the speed of a troll. My eyes went wider yet when I saw the dark elven woman's snake-like tail, capped with a black metal spike - yes, tail! - strike a jarring blow against the female demon, almost breaking one wrist. An instant later, she let go of her sword with one hand, hastily gulping something brought forth from her belt, and belched forth a blast of eldritch force. The marilith rocked back on her heels, figuratively speaking, quickly regaining her balance, but the balor was actually borne off its feet, crashing loudly to the battered, burning earth.

For a breathless moment I crouched, watching, seized with fearful paralysis, my thoughts flying round and round. This was not my fight, not my sort of fight, not a fight I could win - this was out of my league! Despite that, I'd erected a quick protection against fire, almost without conscious intervention, purely by instinct, casting soundlessly by means of will alone - not wanting any sound to alert the lesser demons to my presence. When I uttered the arcane words of yet another spell, I knew my decision had been made. Desperation makes fools of us all. Whoever this black-skinned elf might be - and I had my suspicions concerning what she was - she was obviously a being of immense power, and no doubt could be my savior. For all her fierceness, I did not believe she could win without aid, so the dice were cast. If it came to the end, I would attempt again to teleport away, but this chance of salvation was at hand, and I could not pass it up.

What makes many outsiders, be they demons, devils or archons, so frustrating in battle, is their ability to teleport at will. With the spell I'd cast, I overmatched them tactically, for it allowed me to dimension hop and cast a spell or strike with a blade, before phase leaping away, again and again. Misfortunately, demons were completely immune to lightning, my favorite battle magic, and the balor was quite immune to flame. I took out a small scattering of diamonds and enacted my will, a lesser wish magic, to empower the freezing cone-shaped eruption I unleashed as I rose to my feet, catching all the demons unaware - and hitting them where it hurt the most. They froze, almost literally, and I tossed a blast of explosive fire amidst the four four-armed demons, leaving them injured nigh to death. No, I grinned as I teleported behind them once they had turned their angry gazes to me, two of them were toppling, earlier injuries combined with my magic taking them down.

One demon looked around wildly for me, its tottering fellow enacting a defensive magic, conjuring five figments of itself, and I charged up behind first, blade and spiked buckler slamming into the back of the dreadfully injured glabrezu's upper thigh, cutting deeply and felling it. Its companion, images shimmering and moving around deceptively, growled menacingly at me and tossed a thin cloud of cold, cloying miasma, a spray of greasy darkness at me, which I shrugged away with minor injury. I was no paladin, to be brought down by unholy power. Less pleasantly, the enormous demon had closed with me, two giant steps bringing me within reach of its pincers. At a disadvantage, too easily misdirected by the mirror images it had conjured, I chose to avoid melee, tossing a curtain of fire from a raised hand, stripping away the illusions and injuring it slightly. Arrogance is a demon's greatest failure, and I was sure it would not flee, not when it believed it had me at bay - though I did not expect it to utter a word of power, attempting to cloud my mind and stun me. I shook it off - if just barely - and struck the demon down in a flurry of bladework, after a feint with my spiked buckler drew it off balance. My black sword, a short slender blade perhaps two feet long, is an ancient Tian artifact whose name translated to Bitter Mountain Rebuke, affected a pitted and corroded look, bubbling with acid ... which slid like oil off the dead demon's skin.