Styak clung to the checkered surface of Parry's vast memory-scape as it tossed and bucked.
"Calm your mind! I can't do anything with your thoughts roiling in a cyclone."
"I'm holding three thugs off with one blade," came the voice from all around, somehow through gritted teeth. "I'll stall best I can, just find a spell, anything!"
The demon slashed down with a claw and crawled into a memory cell as if it were a lifeboat on a stormy sea. Its floor became a wall, then the ceiling, then the floor again as Parry dodged and swung.
"This is ridiculous," Styak muttered, giving a quick lick to the tiny spark of memory in the cell.
> ...such a delicious dinner, the duck had been seared, skin crispy, potatoes pavé and butter-grilled summer vegetables...
"Bah!" Styak spat out the useless memory and slashed a wall, clambering through to the next. Tumbling like a parcel, bouncing around the cell, he barely got the little spark into his mouth.
> "No no no, Charles the VI, then Nikolaus, then Charles VII!" The cane came down on Parry's knuckles, already bloody from his last inaccuracy. "Charles-Nikolaus-Charles, keep it straight!" A wave of hatred towards Parson Thwack.
"This is going to take forever," the demon snarled, spitting the memory out and cutting his way into another cell.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
> "--bottles of ale on the shelf, ninety-nine bot--"
Maybe death would be better.
The chaos around Parry turned his mind into a whirlwind, up was down, everything was dark, there was nothing but churning and flashes of emotion, physical exhaustion leaking through his thoughts, frustration, and the first hints of panic.
"HURRY!"
Stack held back a retort and slashed his way through the nearest surface, half-crawling and stumbling into the next cell.
> Archangel Parry hovered impossibly in the violet sky, basking in the light of his own wings. His heavenly glow cast a searing brightness down on the Black Horde, his voice was like something from beyond the firmament.
>
> "PERISH NOW, SERVANTS OF DEFILEMENT!"
>
> He spoke a word that existed in no tongue. And the Demons of the Fifth Hell had nowhere to run...
***
"That will work. It's in a spell slot, cast it now!"
It was near the end. Mr. Knife had scored two gashes which made Parry's sword arm sluggish and his grip slippery with blood. Mr. Club took advantage of the tight quarters and went low, smashing one of Parry's toes to a pulp. The pain was exquisite. Toes hurt so much more than they should!
The only think keeping him going was that the brawler decided not to join in, sitting instead on the cot and wrapping a torn strip of sheets into a bandage for his wrist. The other two thieves clearly had the boy, this would be over soon.
"Cast it now! Now now now!"
No time to even think, Parry poured mana into the spell that just appeared on his list.
"Five hundred magic points?! I can't--!" but he'd committed.
His chest felt like it was exploding into flame.