Legion felt the flutter of recognition in the Warrior’s heart — and the confusion.
But one emotion was strongest of all, shining in both of their faces.
Determination.
Neither would yield this night.
So be it.
All that truly mattered was the Knight, and the one called Korza was not yet here.
The Warrior pushed the Woman — Erin — farther behind his golden heart, as if his body alone could shield her from Legion. Her light skittered to the side when she moved. The beam struck a tall object to Legion’s left, reflecting off its mired surface, shining brightly from one section that was recently polished.
The emerald hue caught Legion’s eye, igniting fury deep inside him.
It was the hated bell.
The smoke of the six hundred and sixty-six roiled inside him, recognizing the infernal device. They writhed up like a black storm, stirring memories into a whirlwind. Legion’s awareness splintered, between past and present, between his own recollection and that of the many.
… he crawls across the smooth sides of a green diamond, searching for an opening…
… he fails six hundred and sixty-six times…
Before Legion could fully recover from the shock, the Warrior fell upon him. Impossibly strong hands grabbed his wrists. As that sun-blessed flesh touched his shadowy skin, a golden fire burst forth between them, flaming up his arm to his shoulder.
For the first time in eternity, Legion screamed.
Erin clapped both hands over her ears, dropping her flashlight, falling to her knees at the assault. Tears rose in her eyes, as she fought not to pass out.
Must help Jordan…
Steps away, Jordan grappled that ebony-faced monster. He slammed his opponent’s body hard against the wall, knocking the air from those lungs to stop the ear-shattering wail.
The impact jarred loose roof tiles from the hole above, sending them crashing to the attic floor. She looked up — to find a pair of eyes glaring down, shining crimson, marking the corruption inside the massive beast.
A grimwolf.
For the moment, the hole was too small for its huge body, but the wolf dug at the edges, widening the hole, plainly intending to come to its master’s defense. On the far side of the attic, Jordan continued to wrestle with their shadowy assailant.
Erin retreated until her back was pressed against the grime-slick surface of the glass bell. Her hands searched the floor for a weapon, but only found the metal gear she had knocked off its hook earlier. Her fingers closed on it, useless though it may be.
Still…
With her back against the bell, she scooted up until her fingers could reach a long glass pipe that protruded from the bell’s side. She swung around and smashed the gear through the base of the pipe, where it connected to the larger bell. Its length broke free and clattered to the ground, shattering into shorter pieces.
She snatched up the longest and thickest.
With the glass spear in hand, she faced the wolf. The beast was almost through. Reacting to her challenging stance, it shoved its head as far as it could, snapping toward her, saliva flying from its snarling lips. But its massive shoulders still restrained it.
At least for the moment.
Intending to take full advantage of that moment, she pushed off the bell and headed toward where Jordan grappled with their adversary. It looked as if he were wrestling his own shadow. They were on the floor, rolling and thrashing, moving with a speed that defied her eyes.
She gripped her spear, fearful of striking out, lest she impale Jordan by mistake.
And what exactly was he fighting?
She had caught a look at the enemy’s face when he first crashed down. His skin had been black, darker than coal, and it had seemed to suck in the feeble glow of her flashlight. She remembered seeing a similar shadowy figure on Cardinal Bernard’s computer, from the video of the attack at that disco in Rome, but the feed had been too fuzzy for true details.
Not any longer.
She had recognized those features now, blackened though they may be.
Brother Leopold.
Jordan got a fleeting advantage in his fight and pinned that mystery to the floor under him. On top, Jordan let go of Leopold’s black wrist and grabbed his throat.
Erin noted how the freed wrist had turned pale, matching Jordan’s palm and fingers, as if those shadows had fled from Jordan’s touch. As she watched, the darkness filled back in, flowing like oil over the pale wrist.
Then Erin heard Jordan gasp, pulling her attention to Leopold’s face.
As Jordan gripped the man’s neck, those shadows bled away from the hand that gripped that black throat. Darkness receded across Leopold’s chin, over his mouth and nose, revealing the monk’s pale features.
His face contorted in agony, his lips struggling to speak.
“Kill me,” Leopold wheezed.
Jordan glanced over his shoulder to her, unsure what to do, but refusing to let go.
Erin rushed forward, hoping for some explanation. “What happened to you?”
Desperate blue-gray eyes stared toward her. “Legion… a demon… you must kill me… can’t hold—”
His voice died away as a smoky oil began to swim across his eyes. The freed hand lashed out and grabbed Jordan by the throat — and twisted hard.
Bones snapped in Jordan’s neck.
No…
A savage growl erupted behind her. A glance revealed the grimwolf plunging its bulk through the hole, coming to finish them off.
Elizabeth raced across the rain-slick rooftop, trailing Rhun. Though unholy power fueled her limbs, she could not keep up with him now. He was a black raven sweeping ahead of her, his speed stoked not by damnation but by fear and love.
The pair of them had managed to fight their way out of the house, collecting the severely wounded Christian along the way. Once outside, they had barricaded the door, trapping as many of the strigoi inside as they could. Christian still kept a post down there, protecting their rear.
But once the pair of them had reached the roof — following the sounds of fighting and the heartbeats of Erin and Jordan — they had spotted a grimwolf burrowing through the tiles, trying to reach the attic.
Rhun reached the beast ahead of her, slamming into its flanks, knocking it away from the hole. She did not slow and leaped over them, swinging her sword low as she flew, lopping off one of the beast’s ears as it raised its head.
She landed, skidding on the wet tiles, turning to face the grimwolf as it howled its rage.
To her right, Rhun rolled to his feet, baring his silver karambit. As if sensing the weaker of the two, the beast lowered its head and shifted its weight to face Rhun.
Elizabeth took a step forward, intending to dissuade the wolf of this action — when a shift of shadows drew her attention to the left. A dark figure appeared through the veils of rain, as if brought down from the clouds. The newcomer wore a black habit that matched what was left of Elizabeth’s.
“Sophia…?” Rhun called out, but he was mistaken.
Lightning flashed, and in its quick light, Elizabeth found an older face beneath a damp nest of gray hair. The nun carried a curved scimitar in one hand.
“Abigail?” Elizabeth struggled through her surprise.
What was that sour-tempered Sanguinist doing here?
Lightning burst even brighter, revealing a new feature on the old nun’s face: a black handprint emblazoned on her wet cheek.
Abigail rushed Elizabeth, moving with that unnatural speed of the possessed.