They were face to face, so close Sam could smell its sulfurous breath. For a moment, nothing happened. Sam didn’t expect it to disintegrate into a plume of ash like a normal Lemure. Higher ranked demons seemed to have a tendency to remain on Earth upon their death. What happened next though was completely unprecedented in Sam’s experience. First, the Cambion smiled at him, then without preamble, it simply disappeared. No ash. No nothing. One second the Cambion was right next to him with his sword buried in its chest, the next, gone.
Sam blinked in surprise. “Well, that was different,” he muttered.
He took a moment to reflect and to assess, breathing more heavily than normal. His injury wasn’t bad but was still leaking blood. Usually an injury like this would have healed by now, but the Cambion’s blade wasn’t normal. Experience had taught him that the injury would heal eventually — probably. He hoped. The last injury he’d had like this had taken Satan himself to heal. He felt a little weak and light-headed but he reckoned he’d be alright.
Then he cast around with his mind. Now that he knew what to look for, he could sense them. Just. They were obviously trying to conceal themselves with a similar glamor to his own, but they weren’t quite strong enough to resist his scrying. They probably couldn’t detect him because their mind states showed no alarm. Four more of them. They were just now arriving outside the motel. Maybe the one he’d just killed had got here before the others, sent like the others by his father. That one had probably just been a little quicker or a little keener than the others. Sam smiled. Served him right.
Yet he’d managed to dispatch one of them with some difficulty. Sam suspected a further four of them would be more than his match. Discretion became the better part of valor.
Heedless of the noise it caused, Sam made his own exit, kicking through the thin walls and into the room next door. Not slowing, he charged through the next wall and the one after that. The repeated impact hurt — how could it not? He was certainly no Horned Demon accustomed to smashing through stud partitions like they were paper. His leading shoulder ached. It felt like he’d dislocated it. No matter, it would heal. More disturbing was the blood he could feel dribbling down his torso. The wound from the Cambion’s sword still hadn’t closed up, and he probably wasn’t doing it any favors mowing down buildings.
At the limits of his endurance now, he ploughed through two more walls. He could discern that the other Cambions still out there, still waiting. They probably thought their comrade was still in furious combat with him and so far, they seemed content to wait for their victor to emerge. It was a lucky break for Sam, and one that he wasn’t about to squander.
He thought for a moment about calling for Yeth but dismissed the idea almost immediately, crushing it quickly so that Yeth would not read his unconscious desire and come for him in any case. His Hellhound would not help him here. In fact, the presence of such a mighty creature would act as a beacon for every other demon in the vicinity, so Yeth would have to emerge from the nearby church and battle every other demon that crossed his path between there and Sam’s current position. It would take too long. Not only that, but Sam wasn’t convinced about how effective the great demon would be against these Cambions. They probably possessed his innate flame resistance and seemed unnervingly handy with their blades. Hell hounds didn’t have many weaknesses but as Sam had discovered long ago, a blade punched through their eye would kill them just as effectively as any other creature.
He couldn’t bring himself to put Yeth at risk. He’d get out of this mess by himself.
Staggering, bloodied and covered with plaster and ash, he kicked through the wall in front of him. Or tried to. Big mistake. It was the outer wall, solidly constructed from concrete blocks. He almost cried out in pain as he felt something break in his foot, even as it ruptured the wall. He kicked again and again, ignoring the pain from his tortured foot.
Finally, he made a hole big enough for him to fit and squeezed himself through it, gritting his teeth against the pain as his injured foot became twisted. He freed it with an effort and examined what he’d done. The bone was broken alright, part of it sticking out of his broken flesh. Even now, it was starting to heal but slowly, so slowly. Much more slowly than normal. That Cambion’s cursed blade was really messing up his healing ability. Even his shoulder was taking its time realigning itself.
He paused to catch his breath. The Cambions were moving. He divined that they had entered the original motel room where he and Aimi had spent the night. They would soon spot his trail. It wasn’t exactly hard to work out where he’d gone. He may as well have set up a giant neon sign saying ‘this way.’
He gambled that they wouldn’t be able to find him if he got clear of the motel, though his father had obviously told them exactly where he was. If his glamor held out, he should be able to get clear — unless he was in their line of sight, of course. Besides, it was almost dawn. They couldn’t keep hunting him for much longer. Could they?
He was wrong.
He limped on, the wounds definitely healing but not rapidly enough to give him an advantage. Behind him, the Cambions closed the gap. They may not have been able to sense him but they could certainly track him. He was leaving a bloody trail and dragging his foot. The worst ever Boy Scout could’ve followed such a trail.
Panting and exhausted, he finally hid in a thick brush thicket that had still managed to retain some of its leaves, even buried in ash, just as the sky brightened. Dawn. The blood-red moon disappeared behind the thick cloud cover, leaving him with an odd sense of abandonment. It also left him weakened. The red moon leant him strength where the day leached it.
He prayed that, like most demons, they would retreat to Hell during the day time. But they weren’t normal demons. They were Cambions like him. He didn’t have to go to Hell during the day, so why would they? But then again, he’d become accustomed to living on the Earth for the last twenty odd years. The sun still made him feel slightly uneasy and he was used to it. For them, this must be a relatively new and unusual experience. Hopefully, the sun terrified them. Maybe they would return to where they felt most comfortable. If they didn’t, it was all over for him.
They appeared from around an abandoned gas station about fifty feet away. He thought about using it as a refuge or even a last stand, but it was just too obvious. It was what they’d expect him to do. It was what he’d expect of himself. As usual, when he had such doubts, he went ahead and did the unexpected. This time, he wasn’t sure whether it would pay off or not.
He watched as they briefly checked out the building, satisfying themselves that he wasn’t inside. Outside, he couldn’t help but notice the nervous looks they were giving the sky. One of the four — a male — was looking in his direction, pointing for the benefit of the others, following the obvious trail he’d left. Two females were shaking their heads. A whispered conversation followed — an argument. Even in hot debate, they kept their voices low so that Sam could only hear the occasional snippet of Hellspeak. There was lots of angry gesturing going on, mostly in his direction. The first male was clearly adamant that they continue but the others appeared too scared of the sky. Eventually, the majority won and all four disappeared behind the gas station once again.
Sam had never felt so relieved before. Another fifty feet and they would have had him. It was only now that he could feel his strength starting to return, the blood clotting on the wound in his chest. His broken ankle was starting to knit while his shoulder had already realigned itself. A few minutes earlier, and there would have been no way he could’ve fought them all off, especially in his weakened state.