My eyes went to Xhan in his right hand. The lurid red of rakkuhr wrapped around the essence blade and up Rhyzkahl’s forearm. My lips pulled back from my teeth as I dug my fingers hard into the ground and tried to clench my hands into fists. “Rhyzkahl’s here. Paul, stay down and behind Mzatal.”

“Mzatal says—I don’t know what he means,” Paul said, and I heard the stress in his voice even through the static. “Says no rules here and no way to contain Rhyzkahl? Shit!” Static filled the connection for several seconds as the node flared. “Says must incapacitate. Engaging.”

Cursing, I pushed up to hands and knees, easier now that the ground wasn’t shaking and nothing was blowing up. “As soon as Rhyzkahl is occupied, I’m going to get Idris and drag him over your way.” Mzatal needed me by him for combat support and so that his attention wouldn’t be split. In my peripheral vision, I saw Rhyzkahl tracing protections as he stepped off the gazebo platform and toward Mzatal.

I made it to my feet and began a slightly unsteady dash toward the sluggishly moving Idris. A heartbeat later a reyza appeared beside Rhyzkahl, spread his wings and bellowed. Not quite as large as Gestamar but formidable none the less.

“He called Pyrenth through!” I steadied my legs, but almost stumbled as the node whined. Another lord stepped from it, fierce smile and aura like a jungle cat on the hunt. “Jesral.”

“Oh, shit,” Paul breathed through the static. “Got it.”

Jesral took a step, staggered a bit, then shook his head as if to clear it and get his bearings. Had the sly lord ever been to Earth before? If not, I was ready to welcome him with a good hard kick in the balls.

I took a second to make sure Jesral’s attention was on Mzatal rather than me, then sprinted to Idris and did a super-quick injury check to make sure I wasn’t going to damage him irreparably by moving him. He was breathing easily, and I didn’t see gushing blood or protruding bones—though he had a glassy-eyed look of shock and a shitload of little blisters, likely an arcane affect of the blast. I flinched as the first potency strike of the battle burst with an ear-splitting crack. Heart thudding, I seized the back of Idris’s collar and began hauling him toward Mzatal and Paul. Easier said than done. Idris was a solid chunk of muscle, which made for a lot of dead weight. I sure as hell wouldn’t think of him as a kid ever again.

He let out a low groan, then began to thrash, disoriented. He was still too out of it to get free of me, but it made dragging him about ten times as hard. “Stop struggling, Idris!” I panted, holding on with both hands as I backed toward friendly lines. “Holy shit, how much do you fucking weigh?”

Pyrenth bellowed again, then bounded in my direction. Adrenaline dumped hard into my system as two things became crystal clear: Pyrenth would reach me in about five seconds and, unless I did something quick and decisive, he was going to recapture both Idris and me for Rhyzkahl.

I’ll never be me again! The terrifying thought surged through me in a flash. The rakkuhr virus held that potential. Rhyzkahl was a certainty. No time for my gun, and it wouldn’t be enough to stop the reyza anyway. In the instant I had to react, I realized I had only one possible course of action. I released my grip on Idris’s collar, jerked my hand up into the air and called Vsuhl to me.

In the next heartbeat Pyrenth was on me, clawed hand reaching to grasp and hold. But I’d practiced with Gestamar in all sorts of close-quarter fighting, and knew the balance points and the weak spots. As the blade coalesced in my hand, I snapped out a side kick into his hip, throwing him off balance enough for me to evade his grab. Moreover, it shifted his unprotected chest toward my right. Letting out a guttural cry, I took advantage of the instant of vulnerability, surged forward and buried Vsuhl to the hilt in Pyrenth’s chest.

He let out an agonized bellow and staggered back. The blade’s approval whispered through my mind as it made its insidious presence known. The hilt wrenched from my hand even though my grip on it was solid, almost as if it clung to Pyrenth’s flesh. Breathing hard in triumph, I watched him go to his knees and scrabble at the hilt. I’d taken one opponent out of the game, and dying on Earth simply meant he’d most likely return to the demon realm.

Except . . . this didn’t look like the other times I’d seen demons die here. There was no light spilling through the wound, no ripping crack or the smell of ozone and sulfur.

Pyrenth was bleeding.

Sick horror formed a knot in my gut. I moved forward and seized Vsuhl’s hilt. The blade howled in protest as I yanked it free, and it seemed to require ten times the effort it should have. Yet then I could only stare for several eternal seconds at the blood that spilled down Pyrenth’s broad chest.

“I don’t understand,” I croaked out. I dropped my eyes to the blade in my hand, felt and heard it urge more more more, then returned my gaze to Pyrenth. He sagged to his side, his expression calm, relaxed. He might have looked peaceful if not for the blood that bubbled from his mouth and darkened his fangs.

“Well . . . played,” Pyrenth breathed.

The fighting continued around me as I struggled to understand. I felt Mzatal’s focus on me, his insistence that I banish Vsuhl. Felt him take a strike for his distraction. I dimly noted that another concussion rocked the lawn, though not as severe as the first. Paul was shouting something in my earpiece, and it took me several seconds to comprehend the words.

“Kara! Mzatal says to send the blade away! Send the blade away! Jesral!”

I jerked my gaze up and saw Jesral’s eyes locked on the blade and me. Quickly, I banished the blade, and briefly reveled in the look of rage that came over him before I returned my attention to Pyrenth.

“I don’t understand,” I repeated, almost desperately. “I only meant to send you back to the demon realm!”

His lips pulled back from his teeth in a reyza smile. “Vsuhl. Takes all. Gives no mercy,” he rumbled, so low I doubted anyone else could hear him.

“Yaghir tahn,” I said, throat clogging. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Kahl dar,” he said. “Juntek lakuna jaik. Srah lorvahlo. Haakir.”

I understood him. Or at least the basic meaning—perhaps because of the whisper of the grove I felt through the open node. All is well. I finished with honor. Well played. Then he drew a deeper breath, let it out, and was still.

Guilt and sorrow clawed at me, sharpened by a scalding wash of Rhyzkahl’s anger over the death of his reyza. This was not at all how I wanted revenge against Rhyzkahl. Never like this. I dragged a hand over my face, and it came away wet with tears.

“Kara!” Paul shouted though the earpiece.

I forced myself back to the present. Rhyzkahl and Mzatal were deeply engaged in arcane battle. Jesral took a step toward me, then staggered back as Mzatal cast a heavy strike his way.

The ground shook again. I spun to see Idris stagger to his feet, swaying, eyes still seeming somewhat unfocused. Baring my teeth, I channeled my guilt into rage that I’d been forced into murdering Pyrenth. Yet with the rage came hurt and disappointment with Mzatal. Why didn’t he warn me? If he’d given me any training with the blade, like I’d asked him to, this wouldn’t have happened.

I seized the front of Idris’s shirt. “Come on!” I snarled, then had to yank him off balance as he resisted, disoriented enough that even Farouche’s mild influence had him fighting me. “Idris. It’s me, Kara. We’re going to Mzatal.”

He took a ragged breath and stopped pulling at my hand. “Kara! I’m . . . okay,” he gasped even though clearly he wasn’t. Wild confusion filled his eyes, and he shook from the arcane and physical damage from the blast.