Rodrigo stopped running. “What? How? We were supposed to have more time!”
“Misery is a cunning bastard,” Resent said. “He must have spread a false date for the campaign, so if any of his enemies heard about it, they would be confounded like you are now.”
The strength left his legs, and he collapsed in the middle of the hotel's hallway, leaning against the wall for support. “Then we’re screwed, aren’t we? I’m nowhere near ready.”
“Get a hold of yourself! You have more of an advantage than everyone in this building and most of humanity. Succumb to cowardice, and those brats of yours will be ripped apart.” Resent paused, then enunciated each word, “If. They’re. Lucky.”
Rodrigo fiercely slapped his own cheeks to push back the panic, then shoved off the wall and got to his feet. As he rushed down the steps, taking them two at a time, he saw others running as well, though thankfully not enough to clog the stairs. He picked up snippets of conversation as he blew past people.
“What the hell’s going on?” a man asked, collected enough that he must not have seen the demons yet.
“Monsters! Monsters everywhere!” a woman screamed.
It took Rodrigo two minutes to get down to the sixth floor’s narrow hallway, where he heard frenzied shrieking. Having smashed their way in through the windows, the imps left so many shards of tinted glass in their wake that the sound of it cracking as people trampled over it was nearly as noisy as their cries. The imps were tearing into people’s clothes and flesh with their small, sharp claws. He didn’t want to ignore everyone under attack, but he had no choice. Raquel and Carlito were all that mattered.
When Rodrigo arrived at room 612, his breathing ragged, someone had broken the door off its hinges and the room was in shambles. Two armored warriors were exiting the bedroom Raquel had chosen. They were dressed identically, in frayed black surcoats worn over dark chain mail, and steel helmets that showed only their eyes. Their surcoats were emblazoned with the gold insignia of the tri-horned demon that had been on Misery’s cape in Resent’s memories. One warrior held a spear, the other a sword. Both weapons were dripping blood onto the plush white carpet at their feet.
“Ah, another one,” the warrior with the spear said, his voice muffled by his helmet.
Rodrigo’s vision went red as he brought out the nebulae, formed the sphere in his left hand, and pitched it forward like a fastball. Four spikes thrust out of the sphere. Two impaled each demon through their metal pauldrons and into their shoulders, pinning them against the wall at their backs. The sphere hung in the air between them, pulsating ominously, smaller spikes rippling along its surface.
“What did you do?” Rodrigo muttered, plodding forward, his face contorted with fury. When neither demon offered an answer, he willed the spiked tendrils to twist in their wounds, dragging pained grunts from them both. He asked again louder, his voice cracking at the most plausible explanation, “The kids that were in here! What did you do to them?”
“Bro?” Carlito asked, his voice small and frightened, coming from beyond the bathroom’s closed door.
“We’re okay,” Raquel said.
Rodrigo felt the invisible hand crushing his heart loosen its grip. “All right, stay hidden.”
“Behind you!” Resent shouted as a third demon Rodrigo couldn’t see nearly rammed a spear through his back. He barely dodged it and tripped the warrior with a lash from the nebulae. As the demon hit the ground, Rodrigo picked up his spear, at least a foot taller than he was, and stepped back. He held the weapon with all the confidence of a draftee who’d been rushed through boot camp and airdropped into a war zone.
“Do you even have an inkling of how to use that?” Resent asked.
“No. You?”
“Behold!” Resent took over and mockingly twirled the spear in his hands.
The irate warrior rose and yanked out a wickedly curved short sword. Resent backed up to put some distance between them before slashing the demon’s sword hand, ripping open a red line in the leather gauntlet. As the blade clattered to the floor, he plunged the spear straight through the demon’s mail coif and into the soft flesh of his throat. With Rodrigo’s nebulae having dissipated, the two others had gotten free and were creeping up behind Resent. Like he had eyes on the back of his head, he ducked their slashes and spun, sweeping the spear in an arc and cutting the nearest warrior’s feet from under him. He kicked the groaning demon’s helmet off and stabbed him in the forehead, burying the entire spearhead into his skull, the shaft vibrating from the impact.
Like most demons Rodrigo had encountered until the imps, this one appeared fairly human. The only obvious difference from a man’s face were the irregular eyes, frozen wide with the terror of imminent death.
“Okay, so if you’re such a hotshot with a spear, why don't you use one more often?” Rodrigo asked.
“As a prince, learning to use every weapon of merit was a requirement. But even in my youth, I had always found hand-to-hand combat far more thrilling.” Resent smirked, crooking a finger at the remaining demon that was approaching cautiously with his blade pointed at him.
The warrior backed away, his red eyes scanning the room for an escape route. “You are...Prince Resent. King Misery must know of this.”
“Misery is no king.” Resent grabbed the warrior’s legs with the nebulae and flung him into the ceiling. He wrapped his fist in the nebulae and smashed it into the falling warrior’s helmet. The punch crumpled the metal, turning the enemy’s head into a bloody pulp.
A long moment after the fighting was done, Rodrigo asked, “So, are you giving me back control, or what?”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Why bother? Your brats have foreknowledge of the situation. Demons are everywhere, and I am clearly your best chance at getting out of this alive. I’ve permitted you to stay in control so often because your world’s customs bore and vex me. Now, that you’re effectively in mine, there’s no longer any reason to conceal myself.”
He was right, but Rodrigo doubted having a demon around for prolonged periods of time would reassure his family. And more than that, he didn’t like Resent using his body if it wasn’t necessary. But saying either of those things was sure to antagonize the demon. “True, but remember what you said about me getting stronger? If I do, so do you. Look, if I mess up, then you can take over.”
After a disturbing silence, Resent returned control. “Fine. Go collect your albatross so we can vacate.”
Rodrigo considered hiding the bodies, but they’d be seeing more soon enough. “Guys, it’s safe. Come on out.” They ran out of the bathroom and into his arms. He hugged them both tightly, their tears wetting his coat.
“Is this a nightmare? W-what we saw in the hall...” Raquel mumbled.
Carlito noticed the dead demons on the ground and covered his mouth in horror.
Rodrigo grabbed his sister by the shoulders, trying to keep at least her attention fixed on him. “Listen, both of you. I’m sorry. I thought we’d have more time to get ready. But just like Adena promised, the world’s being attacked by demons. I get that this doesn’t make much sense and that it sucks, but we can talk more later. For now, please just fill the backpacks up with food, water, and maybe a change of clothes or two. Then we’re out of here.”
Raquel nodded and ran toward the minibar, but she tripped over one of the bodies. She looked around herself without getting up, taking it all in for the first time. “Did you...do this?”
“No, but I’ll do what I have to, to protect you two,” Rodrigo said, lifting her to her feet. His voice was soft yet firm, trying to at least present the illusion of composure. Though his hands that trembled nearly as badly as hers told a different story.
While Raquel and Carlito packed the bags, Rodrigo picked up the sword one demon had tried to murder him with. It was heavy for a weapon about thirty inches long. As a child, the heaviest fencing sabers he’d used were 300 grams, or slightly over half a pound, and even the size 0 blade he’d started with had been longer than this one’s. Curving like a scimitar at the halfway point, the black blade had three spikes jutting out of the edged side, pointed downward. It had a silver cross-guard and the black hilt felt comfortable in his left hand. The silver pommel, similar to a crescent moon, made it a work of art.
Having more than twice the reach, the spear might be the wiser choice. But it would be cumbersome indoors, and though a background in modern fencing wasn’t ideal for actual combat, it was better than learning a new weapon from scratch.
“You realize a human entering a sword fight with a demon is tantamount to suicide, correct?” Resent asked. “In your case, not only is there the speed and strength gap, but an absence of skill as well.”
“I’ll only use it as a last resort,” Rodrigo lied as he spotted the ornately decorated metal scabbard on the waist of the sword owner’s corpse. He wrenched it free, then strapped the scabbard onto the right side of his own belt. He was momentarily stumped by how the spikes would fit into the rigid scabbard, but as he was sheathing the sword, they retracted on their own.
In the next instant, there was a bang from downstairs and the whole building shook, like it might topple over any second.
“All right, enough packing, guys,” Rodrigo said, struggling to keep his tone even, while considering the new and exciting possibility of being crushed to death by the ceiling caving in on them. “We have to move. Fast. Don’t stop unless a demon’s directly in the way and then...I’ll handle it. Got it?” They nodded, and he took off jogging, keeping pace with them.
But as soon as they entered the hallway, they all froze. Gore stained the once bright walls. With all the blood spreading across the floor and the savaged bodies scattered everywhere, the area was reminiscent of the house on Swan Street. It was the sight of the smallest bodies, bodies of children younger than even Carlito, staring up at Rodrigo with their lifeless eyes, that made his mind want to shut down.
Raquel fell down, crying more intensely than before, and Carlito vomited up his macaroni from hours earlier. Rodrigo wished he could make them feel better, but anything he could say would be hollow. There were no soothing words for a massacre. He told himself they needed a moment to calm down, as if he wasn’t suppressing the urge to react the same way.
“Those imps did all this, in the few minutes we were in that room?” Rodrigo asked, guilt gnawing at him for how he had left these poor people to their fate. Amid the fight, he had been dimly aware of the screaming intensifying in the background before dying down, but he had been too preoccupied to speculate on why.
“While imps are fully capable of causing carnage, many prefer to embarrass and harass when their lives aren’t at stake. This was probably the work of diavoliks.”
“Dia-what?”
“Die-ah-vo-lik. The race of demons I and those we just faced are a part of.”
Rodrigo wanted to know more, but this wasn’t the time. Seeing Raquel and Carlito had pulled themselves together somewhat, he asked softly, “You guys ready?”
They both nodded, trembling and teary-eyed. Rodrigo didn’t bother trying for the elevator again as he continued forward. Operational or not, getting stuck in a metal box during this mess would be the icing on the crap cake. He raced down the staircase, passing by a few more victims, but no one living and strangely, no demons, either. Desperate cries increased in volume the farther they descended.
Upon reaching the lobby, they were met with chaos. The once luxurious hotel had become a slaughterhouse. The beautiful fountain and its bronze mermaid statues, smashed to pieces, its red-tinged water soaking the floor. Explaining their malfunction, every elevator had been crushed inward, with blood pooling at the bottom of some. The shining glass entrance and Christmas decorations shattered. And, of course, more mutilated corpses.
Dozens of survivors, most wounded in some way, were milling about, almost aimlessly. A number of baffled faces expressed a refusal to acknowledge the grim reality of their situation. Parents were clutching their screeching, shivering children to their chests. Others sat quietly on the ground, appearing to have given up all hope, though a few had their hands folded in prayer. There weren’t many demons there, but it was apparent at once why everyone was so miserable.
Blocking the wrecked entrance, stood a barrel-chested, freakishly muscular giant. Its skin was a dark red, like lava cooling after a volcanic eruption. It was wearing only a black loincloth and spiked shoulder pads smeared with gore, as if it had recently impaled someone on them. In its right hand, it held a hammer with a head huge enough to flatten a person into paste. It wasn’t attacking, just standing there, muscles tensed, so no one could escape.
“W-what the hell is that?” Rodrigo asked, not moving a step since he saw it.
“An ogre. What they lack in intelligence, they make up for with brute strength and durability. We should seek another exit.”
As if Rodrigo wasn’t scared enough, now Resent wanted to avoid a fight. He studied the group of people, searching for an employee of the hotel. The building had to have emergency exits, which shock was preventing the staff from leading everyone to. Then he saw Leila, slumped against the wall, completely still.