30th of Thermidor, 1535

Oleander felt a tugging on his shirt and looked down. Barely conscious, Moira briefly spoke, “Destroy him.” From one of the pockets of her dress, she pulled out the salted shotgun shell.

The monster hunter took the shell and placed it in his pocket; He then scooped up Moira and laid her against the base of a nearby tree.

“His eyes, go for his eyes," she urged.

The monster hunter flashed her a smile, “Oh, I know.”

Across the field, Ivy commanded her subordinates to keep firing. Dozens of bullets collided against the sphere of darkness, but every single one of them dissolved the moment they made contact. Garrison called Ivy and her troop over to him. “Look, your rifles won’t do much against that thing, especially given what it’s about to do.”

One of the younger, more nervous-looking officers asked, “What’s it doing?”

“He’s becoming an Archdevil,” Oleander remarked.

“An archdevil?” Ivy repeated.

“Oleander, Murdoch, and I fought one when we were still working for the Southern Morrigan Military Corps,” Garrison explained.

“Right nasty prick he was,” Oleander added, “Kind of like yours truly over here.” Oleander mockingly pointed at Garrison. Garrison stared down at his former subordinate.

“Alright, that’s enough! I know we’re dealing with an Archdevil, but what exactly are we dealing with.”

Garrison pulled at the hair on his chin until he thought up a response, “Retreat to town, arm every officer, round up the rest of the Red Wolves at the police station, pray that we can stop this bastard here and now. If he comes your way, send for help from the Church of Careena.” His instructions were rapid-fire and exceedingly stern.

“Those aren’t bad ideas, for once,” Oleander mumbled.

“I won’t just abandon you here,” Ivy replied.

“You aren’t a part of the Red Wolves anymore,” Ivy could see flecks of anger in Garrison’s eyes as he spoke, “The only obligation you have is to your city.”

Ivy stamped her foot and turned away; both of her fists were balled up and she gnashed her teeth. “Sterling Police Force, full retreat.” The officers nodded and hustled back to their horses. Ivy remained for a moment longer. Her arms started shaking. “Just come back alive. Both of you.”

Oleander reassured her, “Don’t worry. We can handle this. Go on and protect and serve, all that policemen’s oath junk.”

Ivy nodded. She raced after her officer contingent and left the battlefield. The two hunters were left to assess the cocoon of pure evil. Cormag and an exhausted Marcel quickly joined them.

“How’s your neck, Marcel?” Garrison asked.

All three of them expected a small hole to remain visible on the back of Marcel’s neck, but there was only a red, inflamed dot. “I will be fine,” Marcel turned to the darkened sphere, “I have never fought anything like this before.”

“I know, stand behind us, and follow our instructions,” Garrison commanded.

A crack formed along the sphere—black smoke erupted from the thin breach. Another one formed. Then another. The silhouette inside stopped writhing about. Garrison shot Oleander a glance, and the two hunters got into a readied stance. Cormag slid in between them with a Blood bolt primed.

Once enough cracks formed, the sphere exploded. The exterior of the cocoon shattered like glass, allowing the darkness within to then radiate across the battlefield. Leaves on the nearby plum trees withered and cascaded to the ground. Plums feel to the ground, instantly rotten. An empty chill followed the wave of darkness. Everyone’s breath was now visible.

As the smoke cleared, a loud howl of laughter took over the field. As Azephra stood up from a kneeling position, two massive bat-like wings burst from his back. From the tips of his spider legs to his even more elongated horns, he stood at a staggering three meters tall. He also gained a serious amount of muscle definition. He looked down his nose at the vermin standing several strides away from him.

“We've played for long enough.” Azephra squatted down and then, using his wings and four legs at the same time, propelled himself forward. He extended his arms and aimed for the two men’s necks. Azephra’s right bicep caught Oleander in the throat, but Garrison brought up his morning star—it absorbed most of the impact, but almost snapped in half. Both men were still sent tumbling away. Azephra stamped his feet on the ground and came to a full stop. The devil looked back at what he assumed were sure kills. Oleander was on the ground coughing and hacking up blood. Garrison stumbled to his feet, fortunately for him he only had the wind knocked out of him; He passed his hand over the weapon’s handle and mended the break.

“You truly are something else,” Azephra remarked, “I can see why you’re the leader of this little rat pack—”

Chomp! Azephra yelled as Cormag bit down onto the raw, fleshy area between Azephra’s wings. Cormag had sneakily grabbed onto the devil while he lariated Oleander and Garrison. Now the crazed goblin was in a perfect position. He pressed a stamp onto his palm, turned his hand ninety degrees, and drew a line of blood across the symbol. He screamed, “Lacerate!”

A vertical black streak of energy rocketed out of Cormag’s hand and into the devil’s back. He shrieked and his body tensed up. Both of his wings slumped over. Cormag cheered—until he noticed each of them started moving independently of one another. Enraged, Azephra tried to reach around and snatch the goblin, but because of his newfound bulk, he was unable to catch him. Then, he turned his arms into snakes, but Cormag easily scarpered around Azephra’s body like a maniacal cockroach.

“You disgusting excuse of dragon spawn, get off of me!” One of the heads managed to catch Coramg, almost swallowing him whole. Azephra then spun the snake head in a circle before launching Cormag across the orchard.

Garrison rushed in from behind and stabbed the jagged tip of morning star’s handle into the fleshy area Cormag opened up. He wrenched it free and then attempted to stab the handle through one of the segments of the devil's legs. Azephra freed himself from the moment of agony and snapped his leg back. It cracked Garrison across the side, it felt like being hit by a lead pipe. He stumbled back. A red light in the distance caught Garrison’s attention. Garrison lunged out of the way as a crack of thunder shook the orchard and a red bolt of electricity passed straight through the Azephra. The devil couldn’t move his body.

Garrison commanded, “Marcel! Slag cannon, now!” The Red Wolves leader pointed his hand at the still glowing pool of molten iron, raised it into the air, and then pulled the orange globules towards him.

Marcel spun his rapier again—this time forming a more condensed air stream. As the globules of molten slag entered the stream, they burst apart and quickly cooled into jagged shards that flew directly at Azephra.

The instant the devil regained control of his body, he shot straight up into the air—but his aerial movements were still erratic. Marcel and Garrison were undeterred, they simply readjusted the air stream and continued showering the devil in shrapnel. Small holes were punched through Azephra’s wings and his limbs were getting scratched up. Once the wind tunnel started slowing down, Azephra stayed in the air looking down at them.

“Amusing tricks, but I can tell that one of you is at the end of their rope—”

A red flash, followed by a crack of thunder; a second red bolt of electricity flew across the field. Azephra lurched out of the way and looked for the attack’s origin. He held out one hand pointed towards the tree Cormag was standing in and the other pointed at Garrison and Marcel. He spoke and summoned the black flames to his hands, but they looked different now, they had this blue hue to them. As the cones of fire burst from his hands, Marcel slid in front of Garrison and formed a barrier of wind in front of them. The flames curved harmlessly around them, but they were still trapped within the cone.

Cormag managed to jump to another tree just before the one he was on got incinerated. He thought he was safe, but it seemed that Azephra could move the cones as he pleased now. Cormag ran for his life. He tried to fire off a few Lacerates, but each one missed by a wide margin. Oddly enough, the longer the cones of fire stayed out the weaker they became. Azephra noticed that his ring and pinkie fingers were tensing up on their own. He felt this same tensing sensation in his two right legs. He dropped to the ground, unsteady as now those two legs seemed to barely support him. He examined his right arm, remembering Moira’s bite marks. She managed to pierce his skin and draw blood. The realization that her venom was affecting him made the devil seethe with fury.

Marcel dissipated his shield of wind and fell back into Garrison’s arms. “Boss, I don’t know how long I can hold out against this guy,” he whispered.

“Stand down, for now, I’ll handle this.” Garrison pointed both his hands at Azephra. All the shrapnel that littered the field rose up and sped towards the winged monstrosity. Thinking quickly, the devil braced for impact, but the chunks of iron further slashed up his arms, legs, and wings. All the shrapnel then swirled around Garrison and with a quick balling of his fist, the orbiting pieces heated to a bright orange hue. He held up his morning star’s handle and all the molten shards gathered at the tip, reforming the spike ball.

Black blood dripped down Azephra's entire body. He flexed his arms and let out a yell that shook the orchard. Smoke erupted from every wound until they were miraculously closed up. His eyes turned completely black. Despite healing his injuries, everyone began to notice the slight slump of his right appendages.

Garrison rushed in and swung his Morningstar squarely at Azephra’s jaw. The devil stumbled sideways a bit, but he was able to duck under the second swing. The devil leaned back, sprung forward, and then smashed Garrison with a massive left hook to his liver. Spit flew from his mouth. The Red Wolves’s leader staggered back in sheer agony as he felt everything in his body shut down for a brief moment. Garrison was unable to block the next punch and the next one after that. Azephra then grabbed his leg and threw him towards one end of the orchard.

Azephra approached Marcel. He was already unsteady on his feet and the glow of his rapier was fading out. Marcel tried to get into a fencing position. The devil stood above him and smirked—cracking his knuckles extra hard to get his lagging fingers to respond. Out of nowhere, a rock bounced off his head.

“Hey, jackass!” Oleander called.

Azephra turned and jeered, “What’re you going to do? You don’t have any blessings. You don’t seem to know any Signomancy or Vosilomancy for that matter. What can you possibly do?”

Oleander only motioned for Azephra to fight him instead. The devil obliged.

*****

Garrison struggled to get back to his feet after being slammed back first into a tree trunk. He looked down and let out a silent prayer that he didn’t let go of his morning star.

“Psst, Gary. You still alive down there?”

“Oh for fuck sack,” Garrison mumbled. Aside from the devil on the battlefield, this insubordinate goblin was the last thing Garrison wanted to interact with. “What do you want?”

“I got this really great idea—”

“—Where have I heard that line before.”

“No, no! This one might actually work. All you have to do is get in position—” Cormag then rambled off his idea.

*****

Oleander bobbed and weaved as best he could in response to Azephra’s flurry of punches. Most of them ended up being glancing blows, but the damage was adding up. One of the devil’s legs buckled, causing him to miss. Oleander ducked down and shoulder bashed the devil’s abdomen. Oleander followed it up with a right and left hook to the body. Azephra jumped and dropkicked the monster hunter back a couple of feet.

Azephra then leaned forward and rushed Oleander with his jagged horns. With the last of the devil’s venom dripping from his mouth, Oleander caught Azephra—but he couldn’t stop his momentum. The hunter’s heels tore up the ground. He was being pushed so far that he was in danger of colliding with Moira. From a laying position, Moira put two legs on Oleander’s back and one on the back of each of his thighs; with their combined effort, they brought Azephra to a quick stop, and now Oleander started pushing the devil away. The strain on Azephra’s legs became too great and both his right legs buckled.

The muscles in Oleander’s back strained and his left leg shook, but he managed to lift Azephra over his head and slammed him onto the ground. The devil’s wings crumpled underneath him. Oleander rolled through and ended up standing over the devil.

“Impressive…for a human,” the devil grunted.

Oleander whipped out his shotgun and slotted the shell into the right barrel and pulled the external hammer.

“You’ve tried this before, what do you think is going to happen?” The devil smirked.

As Oleander pointed the barrels directly at his face, a familiar scent caught Azephra’s nose. Salt. Blessed salt. Oleander pulled the trigger and fired a shower of pellets shrouded in a plume of white powder. The pellets bounced off harmlessly, but the instant the salt made contact with Azephra’s skin, his head burst into white flames. Azephra threw Oleander off of him and screamed. The devil took flight.

“Now!” Cormag yelled.

Marcel spun his rapier one last time and created a wind tunnel that shot directly up in the air. He then curved his hand down—causing the wind tunnel to follow a similar motion. The storm-force gales blasted directly down onto Azephra. Even with his mighty wings, the devil couldn’t escape through the sides of the tunnel or even ascend. The white flames on the devil’s face were blown away.

“Blood bolt!” Cormag jumped from behind Marcel and launched a red bolt of electrical energy up through the current of swirling air. The bolt took on a corkscrew shape as it accelerated to the point it became a red smear. It shot completely through the ailing devil and stunned him like before.

“Now, Garrison! Hit him towards Oleander!” The Red Wolves leader, back to his feet, ran forward and swung his morningstar. The moment just before his weapon made an impact with Azephra’s body, he expanded the spike ball to be roughly three meters in diameter. The sudden increase in force sent Azephra speeding right out of the tunnel.

Oleander gritted his teeth, got in a readied position, and pulled back his right arm. Azephra smiled as he flew towards Oleander—the stun was wearing off. If he swapped positions with Oleander now, he would be able to decapitate the pathetic human with his own punch. Azephra reached into the pouch where his philosopher stones were, but the last one was missing. His eyes snapped back to Oleander—his pupils widened as he saw metal form over Oleander's fist; it was black, with red and gold trim.

"Mother of the Night protect me—"

The crunching and cracking of Azephra’s face could be heard by everyone. The metal on Oleander’s arms shattered at the point of impact. In a split second, Azephra’s momentum reversed direction, and the burly hunter sent the devil careening through a tree at the other end of the orchard.

Azephra struggled to get to his feet. His right arm and legs slumped down, and the majority of his weight was being supported by the other two legs. A single jagged line resembling a crack in a window ran across the left side of his face. It had an subtle, eerie red glow. The hatred Oleander felt as Azephra stared through his soul was astounding but to his surprise instead of rushing at him again, the devil spat a black sphere into the air. At its apex, the sphere thinned out into a large disc with strange writing along its circumference. Moira recognized it as a similar portal to the one Azephra used to enter the tunnel.

The devil weakly flew up into the air towards his escape, “Your world will one day feel my wrath, and the subjugated masses will sing of the folie of the Red Wolves, how their impudence in the face of a God brought their destruction.”

He fell back into the inky portal. The symbols all around the black disc turned bright green, causing the portal to shrink until it fully disappeared.

Oleander dropped to the ground. His adrenaline masked enough of the pain, but now the stiffness in his back and the soreness in his leg and neck were almost too much for him to bear. Despite not knowing it, the metal that briefly coated his right arm saved him from more severe injuries—he would still walk away with three broken fingers, several fractures in his hand, and a wrist that felt like two rocks scraping against each other.

Cormag raced over to Oleander and Moira, amazingly he made it out with the least amount of injuries.

“Nothing like a well-made plan coming together,” Cormag remarked as he slapped Oleander’s knee.

“Oh yeah sure! Fighting a bloody devil was definitely on the agenda today wasn’t it,” Oleander sarcastically remarked. He slowly rolled over to get a better look at the cheerful goblin. Moira was also struggling to get up. “Did you know that you could poison him?”

“When he spoke to me in the tunnel, I saw that we had the same fangs. I then assumed that our venom was also the same. Then I remembered something one of my many brothers taught me: most venomous creatures are not immune to their own venom.”

“Clever girl,” Oleander remarked as he slumped back onto the ground.

“Are you alright Herr Swine?”

“I’ll be fine. Just-just let me rest for a bit.”

Garrison used his weapon as a walking cane to get back to Marcel. He was sprawled out on the ground taking in big gulps of air. Marcel lifted his head up when he saw Garrison, “Sorry boss, I wish I could have done more.”

“Don’t worry. Commendable effort Marcel.”

“Did we kill the devil?”

“No, but we caught him with his tail between his legs,” Garrison managed to crack a smirk.

Marcel dug into his jacket pocket and lobbed his flare gun to Garrison. Without hesitation, Garrison pointed towards the sky and fired the orange signal. Soon the rest of the Red Wolves, Ivy, and her contingent of police would come to gather them.