Government soldiers stood at ready in the shadows between the buildings, each man flinching every time a gout of fire or horrible wind roared out into the starry night sky. Much like them, across the street and partially hidden in the murky shadows, stood a group of demons. They were much smaller in number, yet far more composed than the jumpy humans.

Another whirlwind of fire cut through the darkness of night like a hot knife through butter, causing the government soldiers to flinch and creep a bit closer to the middle of the street, only stopping when Dimitre, at the head of the demons, stepped forwards with a nasty smirk and a hand resting on a partially unsheathed scimitar at his waist.

The standoff continued for minutes that felt like they crawled on for hours, a neverending march of time that dragged these terrified men forth towards the inevitable conclusion of the melee on the rooftops. Each passing second saw screeching winds wrapping around the blazing hellfire as if the very elements were alive, possessing so much rage and vitality that they were almost able to obscure the shuddering ripples in the air.

A soldier yelped and hid his eyes in his hand as a flash of brilliantly blue fire ruined his night vision once more. Another soldier's hands caressed the hilt of his mace in an attempt to reassure himself. To push back the worries that he and his squad mates wouldn't be enough. That if they were too cautious - no, too scared, to even confront the demons in front of them, that they couldn't even begin to help with the battle of heroes on the roofs. That he would be slaughtered like a squealing pig and left to be torn apart by the rats streaming over his shoes. The soldier looked down at his boots. The leather could hardly be made out through the sheer number of rats climbing over them, crawling and screeching and scrabbling over any available foothold they could get. And. And, some of the rats. They looked at him. Some of the rats paused, almost as if they knew he had noticed them, and stared straight into his eyes without even blinking. He tried his very best to ignore them, though it was difficult since he could feel the pressure of their feet through the worn leather of his boots.

A timeless moment passed and another shuddering ripple weaved its way through the air. The soldier glanced back at the demons watching his squad, hardly even noticing that the ground was clear around their feet, not a rat to be seen.

The air shivered again, tugging his short hair back and forth like underwater reverberations. This one was not from the magic being used above, but from something… else. The soldier didn't know how he knew. He just knew. And this time, the ripple felt like it wasn't just moving through the air, but through his head. Ohhhh. How his head hurt. Like he had drunk far too much ale, but not enough at the same time.

But still, the rats stared at him. And in the corner of his mind, the soldier shivered. For something saw him. It knew him.

And it was almost here.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Adrian scraped his battered trench knife against a newly procured kitchen knife. He had liberated it from a house, the one that disgusting demon had sent him flying through with a surprisingly hefty palm strike. Sparks flew as the blades made contact, followed shortly with the wolf-like howling of wind as his magic buffed his newly acquired weapon. It was not a moment too soon, as Adrian heaved his tired muscles up to block the razor-sharp blade of his foe's scimitar that came whistling towards him.

Splinters flew as the remains of the roof Adrian had came through caved in. Mavier's body followed, causing Adrian's aching chest to constrict in annoyance upon seeing the ever-present protective cloak of flames embracing him. Only a few cuts marred the demon's body, with some having been caused by Adrian's specialty, wind magic, and others caused by his precious trench knife.

Pity. If it weren't for the difference in our buffs, this would be a bit more even. Adrian complained internally as he used his knives to block a flurry of scimitar strikes and punches. He'd be no match for me if I could just get some time, to put on some physical buffs or some shit like that flashy flame cloak that bastard has on, but that's the kicker. No fuckin' time. What a coward, jumping me like that! Adrian's scowl deepened as he considered his options. Elena's fuck knows where. No counting on her. Either she's busy with the halfie or the info got stopped from reaching her. The government's useless, and that gray-skinned coward keeps breaking my kniv- FUCKING DAMN IT ALL!

Adrian cursed as his new kitchen knife was snapped like a toy in Mavier's bloody fist and he was forced to block a brutal haymaker with his now-empty offhand. A gray fist impacted with Adrian's palm, the force of the blow sending the hero reeling backwards into and through the wall of the house. Adrian glanced at his left hand. It still shook from the blow, but he was relieved to see there were no obvious broken bones.

Mavier hurtled the wall of the house towards Adrian, causing the wooden structure to cash and fall behind him. His scimitar struck first and the spells both of the heroes had placed on their favored weapons flickered and groaned under the strain as knife and scimitar clashed under the pale moonlight.

Damn it all.