He heard the sound of shattering glass. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two more leap through the window in a hail of glassy splinters. One skewered itself on the spikes, but the other — impossibly — must have seen them at the last moment and somehow managed to flip itself over and avoid them.
Sam focused his attention back on the one in front of him. Just in time he brought the wakizashi around to block a talon swipe that would have torn his face off. He thrust with the katana, taking the Lemure through the middle but not before he felt a terrible pain in his side. The Lemure vanished, but his momentary lapse of concentration had cost him. He looked down. There was a line of bloody claw marks on his side. He shrugged — it might slow him down but he certainly wasn’t out of the fight yet.
As the wailing horde of demons surged through the doors and windows, Sam retreated through the lounge. He was reasonably confident the rear porch would be clear. He had set numerous iron traps and spikes and in any case, the stupidity of the demons meant they didn’t think tactically. Forward assault was the only method they seemed to possess.
The demons continued to force him back. His swords became a blur of motion as he cut and thrust faster than the eye could follow, a whirlwind attack. The demons went down in great numbers but for every one he cut down, two more replaced it. Talons left bloody tracks on his face and his legs, and the wound in his side oozed blood, but still he fought. He had never known them to arrive in such force before. Perhaps, somehow, they knew he was leaving and were doing their utmost to prevent it.
Eventually he reached the relative safety of the back door and ran through, slamming it shut behind him. A pair of demon hands darted through at the last moment and wedged themselves into the gap. Sam forced it closed with all his strength, severing the taloned hands in the process, then placed the locking board against it.
Outside, he took a moment to get his breath, ignoring the pounding and screams from inside. He had boarded up the windows on this side of the house for this exact reason — to contain and trap the hunting demons. Even as he recalled this, the frames began shaking and quivering with blows from taloned hands. The demons would throw themselves at the door and the windows for some time before breaking through. They were too idiotic to just go around the back. Hopefully, that would give him enough time to get away.
Hopefully.
Not for the first time, he doubted his tactics. At least travelling in the daylight would have been demon-free. But like the demons, he felt more comfortable at night. He would be able to move faster. In any case, even if he had left during the day, as soon as night fell he would have been caught in the open with no where to run. At least this way, he had a head start. That was the plan.
He sensed something then. He wondered if it was his very essence that enabled him to sense these creatures before he saw them, or whether it was something he had learnt through his training. Regardless of the reason, he’d stopped doubting this ability days ago. He knew something was coming, something that took his breath away with fear. It was close, and it wasn’t a Lemure, but something much, much worse. Even the near presence of it was enough for him to almost gag in terror. He had a sudden urge to get away, to run, to hide. Using his training, he fought against his fear and managed to control both it and the adrenaline surging through him. His mind cleared.
Then the house shook from a massive impact. He heard it too — a great tearing noise and glass and timber shattering. Whatever it was, it was coming through the house. And it was in a hurry.
Sheathing both swords, Sam turned and fled, battling his way through dead and dying vegetation, ignoring the clouds of ash disturbed by his flailing arms. He reached the fence marking the end of their property and leapt over it just as his house exploded.
There was a blaze of light, a reverberating blast. Shards of timber from his house whistled past his ear. Every nerve in his body urged him to run, run as fast as he could and keep on running. Instead, he forced his body to turn calmly, ignoring its screaming protests.
He wished he hadn’t.
Striding across the burning wreckage of his family home was a creature from the very darkest pits of Hell. Judging from the relative size of the Lemure who were dancing around its feet like excited puppies, it was at least ten feet tall. It was roughly human-shaped but had four arms instead of two, each hand equipped with foot long talons. Five foot-long black blades were clutched in each claw. Massive wings arched above its back like sails. It was clad in some sort of metallic black armour, glinting ruby red against the backdrop of the burning house, and the head, fully enclosed by a black winged helm, turned this way and that before rotating in his direction. It stopped dead. Sam knew with absolute certainty that it was looking directly at him.
Over the years, Sam had committed to memory every demon in Hikari’s well thumbed copy of Demonology. Hikari regarded the book as essential research for Sam’s coming battle, and had made him study the book endlessly so that Sam would know instantly who or what he was fighting and how to combat it. The book was from the 17th century and all of the illustrations were heavily stylized and detailed but simplistic by today’s standards. However, there was one picture in the book that matched what was before him. There was no way he could fail to recognise the similarities.
It was an Astaroth. A blood demon. A lesser prince of hell.
Sam did then what he had started doing and should’ve kept on doing. He ran.
Heart beating wildly, he darted through his neighbour’s garden, following the path that in spring had bordered a multitude of flowering plants. Now, it meandered through a graveyard of skeletal plants submerged in a white blanket of ash. His neighbours, devout members of the local church, had disappeared along with many of the other 800 odd residents of Jacob’s Ladder during the Rapture. He was sure they wouldn’t mind him using their house in this manner. In fact, where they’d gone, he doubted whether they’d care about that at all, or the fact that he’d helped himself to all the food in their cupboards.
It was an escape route that he had plotted and practised on numerous occasions. The path led up to the back porch of his neighbour’s earthquake-damaged house. Without pausing, he charged straight through the back door, confident that his senses would alert him to the presence of any more demons. He leapt over a fallen internal wall, sidestepped the divider into the lounge and did a neat forwards somersault through the broken front window. He landed on his feet, already running, sprinting off the front porch and onto the road.
Sam risked a glimpse behind him and smiled weakly to himself at what he saw. Nothing. They weren’t following him yet. More importantly, the Astaroth had not yet made an appearance. He could do this. He was going to do it — he was going to get away.
As soon as this thought entered his mind, it was interrupted by a demonic presence to his left. A cluster of Lemure surged out of what had once been the local coffee house, screaming as they advanced. Sam sprinted around a wrecked SUV to give himself some breathing room, drawing both swords.
He swung around to his left, still at full stretch. Whether by good luck or by displaying a higher than usual level of intelligence, three of the Lemure hadn’t fallen for the ploy. They met him on the other side of the SUV, running as hard as he was. Sam didn’t even pause. He struck high then low and spun around to deliver a double blow to the third Lemure. All three turned to ash in his wake.
He kept sprinting, skirting around the wrecks in the middle of Main Street, heading east. It was opposite to the direction he wanted to head in but he would double back later in order to confuse his pursuers.