Armageddon's Children - Terry Brooks [64]
This time it picked her up and threw her across the room. She was weightless for a moment, flying through the air, hugging the staff to her chest.
Then she slammed into the curved lift of the stairway and collapsed to the floor, nearly blacking out from the impact. It felt as if every bone in her body had been broken. She gasped for air and struggled up again, swinging the staff about and sending the fire in a wide protective sweep. There was blood and dust in her eyes, and she could barely see. She got lucky and caught a glimpse of the huge body leaping for her, and she brought the staff’s fire to bear.
The demon went right through it.
She watched the fire engulf it, turn it into a living torch, and fail to halt its momentum. She watched it as if it were happening in slow motion. She could see the madness in the demon’s green eyes, could see the glint of its sharp teeth as it grimaced against the pain it was absorbing. She could see it breaking past her defenses, impossibly strong.
In the next instant it had wrenched the staff from her hands and flung it away.
It went into a crouch in front of her then, smiling through a mask of scales and dirt and blood. Its spiky hair was singed and its clothing was in tatters; one arm had been opened to the bone. But it was a demon, and demons felt little pain. Demons could heal themselves of injuries that humans would die from. This one seemed both un-slowed and untroubled by its injuries. This one seemed to revel in them.
It feinted right and then left in mock attacks, toying with her. It was enjoying this, she realized. It was having fun.
She was back on her feet now and had taken a defensive stance. She did not look for the staff, did not take her eyes off the demon. Her training made her reactions instinctive. She knew what to do, even though she knew it was probably over and she was going to be killed. She did not respond to the feints, did not lunge or back away. She held her ground, waiting.
When the demon came for her, its claws slashing, its huge body seeking to envelop her in a ring of muscle and bone, she braced herself until it was close enough then hit it with both fists between the eyes. The blow was shocking and painful, and the demon staggered, crying out. Its arms tried to wrap about her anyway, but she ducked under their sweep and struck it again, this time on the right ear. The demon howled, swung about, and caught her fists flush on its nose.
Even then, Angel could not escape. The demon’s claws raked her shoulder and back, and one forearm hammered into the side of her face with such force that the blow snapped her head back. She was knocked sprawling and dazed, but managed to get back to her feet. The demon shrieked in fury as its next lunge missed, and Angel sprinted across the room toward her staff. In a single motion she swept it from the rubble, wheeled back, and sent the fire directly into the face of her pursuer.
This time the fire did its work. The demon went over backward, howling and thrashing, twisting so violently that it careened backward into the already damaged staircase. Wood splintered, plaster cracked, supports buckled, and the entire structure gave way with shocking suddenness, collapsing on the demon and burying it from view.
Angel stared at the rubble, breathing heavily, waiting. When nothing happened, she wheeled about. The room was silent and empty; the children had disappeared with Helen and the other Women. She glanced back at the collapsed staircase, searching for movement. There was none. Had she not been so debilitated by her struggle, she might have taken the time to dig through the debris to finish the job. As it was, she could barely move.
She took a long slow breath and pulled herself together. She was still alive and that was enough. Aching and bloodied, she walked out the door