The winter air burned. A woman leaned over the walkway of the cathedral dedicated to the demigoddess Careena. She clasped her hands and recited a brief prayer to the higher power; she extended her plea for assistance to whoever would listen, but the last time she did this, someone unintended answered. She pulled up her sleeve; a devil's marking was coiled down her forearm. Under threat of death, a grossly uneven deal was struck. Each day, the marking would slowly grow more red, ending at the circle on her palm. Time's up. That devil has come to collect.
A strange inky substance dripped through the metal doorway at the end of the walkway. As it encompassed the framework, red symbols flashed on the black surface in an intricate pattern. The doors opened, but instead of the safe confines of the cathedral, a hellish void appeared. Her nightmare stepped through. The devil's tail flicked back and forth as his stern gaze pierced her heart. Even in the evening, his reddish skin and streaked horns seemed so vivid. The moonlight glinted off the infernal creature's bestial eyes, briefly flashing orange; the woman stepped back as he approached.
"A deal is a deal, my dear; there is no running away," he said, strolling over and flashing a mischievous smile. "If we do this the easy way, then I promise you'll get to pass onto the afterlife. All I need is that soul of yours."
The woman tightly gripped the railing and turned away to gaze at the moon one last time. She couldn't hold back the tears as dread overtook her body. If this didn't work, then she was good as dead. She extended out her hand, capitulating to the devil's wishes.
Across the street, camouflaged underneath a snow-covered tarp, Irene lined up a shot with her rifle. Her short stature made it easier for her to hide or lie low. She pushed her curly hair into a ponytail to keep it from interfering with her mark. The sharpshooter used the subtle gliding of the woman's dress and hair ribbon to gauge the speed and direction of the wind. Irene adjusted her shot one last time; she placed her tan finger on the trigger as their client extended her hand toward the infernal creature. Lying beside her was Wilhelm, a tall, dark-skinned man with a graying, full beard; he finished drawing a similarly intricate symbol on a sheet of paper. He pulled a knife from his pocket and pricked his thumb, letting a small bead of blood form. He smeared it across the drawing, and the symbol turned bright red; he pointed the paper at the devil's doorway.
A beam of white light struck the inky portal; six different-colored diamond shapes formed on the door that started to dissolve the devil's escape back to hell. Taken by surprise, the infernal creature wasn't perceptive enough to locate the light spell's origin.
The devil snapped, "Anyone you brought into this will suffer greatly—"
Irene's shot tore through the frigid air and obliterated the devil's right horn; instead of passing from one horn to the other, it ricocheted into the stained glass windows behind the walkway. The devil jumped back, pivoted, and ran into the cathedral.
"I will be back no matter where you go! That marking will bring me to you!" the devil yelled.
Anticipating an ambush either inside or on the street below, the infernal creature launched himself off the nearest balcony and crashed through the window of the neighboring hotel. Irene took out a whistle and quickly blew into it three times, relaying to the others which direction their target was heading.
The devil tumbled into the room, scaring the two barely-dressed tenants. Their screams would surely draw attention to his location; he needed to be quick to find a safe place to return home. He shoulder-bashed the door down and sped through the hallway. He'd be free if he escaped through the room at the end of the corridor, jumped out, and stayed clear of firing range long enough. As he approached the stairwell, two hunters dashed up to meet him.
Caroline, a light-skinned blonde woman brandishing a pair of shears, was the first to engage the devil. The devil scoffed at her pitiful choice of weapon, then clenched his fist, letting fragments of bone pierce through his skin. The white material coalesced into a spiraling spear. He darted forward, aiming for the woman's head. Caroline raised her shears, expanded them, surprising the devil, and caught his attack between the blades. She closed her weapon and sliced through the devil's right arm like it was paper.
The devil screamed in pain as another hunter reached the top of the stairs. James, a light-skinned young man with brown hair in a well-tailored suit, pulled out his revolver and fired several quick shots at the devil. He scored direct hits to the abdomen, collarbone, and left shoulder. The infernal creature jumped back and took a deep breath; liquified calcium started spreading from the bullet wounds across his torso and thickened into bony plate mail. His left arm was reinforced, and a serrated blade replaced his severed right arm. Wanting to avoid another near-headshot, a wild-looking helmet grew over his face.
Caroline pulled her shears apart, and the two halves lengthened to the size of broadswords. She and their target clashed. They alternated strikes before Caroline slowly took advantage and pushed the devil back. The infernal creature noted that the individual shear blades did not have the same intense cutting power as when they were one weapon. He gained proper footing and started parrying away the huntress's attacks; the devil then morphed his right arm into a shield to block any oncoming gunshots.
James and Caroline were in perfect sync as one attacked while the other reloaded or repositioned themselves. The next instance that James ran out of ammunition was when the devil made his move; he pushed through Caroline's advancing blade strikes and slammed his shield into her, sending her flying back.
"James!" Caroline yelled as she let go of one of her blades.
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The hunter caught the weapon and rushed in; he aimed for the thin openings between the devil's armor plating, but his attacks were rebuffed. James was not as adept at fighting at close range, but the power and durability of his shear blade made up for it. The devil needed to strategize; in mere moments, two people would be beating down on him. Inspiration struck as James cleaved through the shield and partway into devil's replacement arm; the infernal creature allowed the boney structure to reform, trapping the shear blade. He then detached the defensive appendage and swung his body into a powerful kick, sending James stumbling back while letting go of his weapon.
The devil then rushed forward. James instinctively reached for his revolver, but the devil surprised him by using the detached bone structure as a platform to jump over the hunter. Caroline was up and ready to intercept the somersaulting devil. Anticipating a mighty slash, the devil morphed his left arm into a shield — catching Caroline's hit. The attack was still strong enough to swat the devil into the stairwell, but the infernal creature left Caroline with a parting shot as his bone-tipped tail whipped across her face.
The huntress fell to the ground clutching her right eye as the devil tumbled down the stairs. He was rattled by the fall but overall unharmed. This diversion didn't impact him as much; he could just as easily escape through a second-floor window instead. He needed to be quick; he suspected more than four hunters were chasing after him tonight. The moment he stepped off the stairs, a massive burst of force knocked him off his feet and sent him flying several feet.
Cormag, an orange-skinned goblin with reptilian features clad in a tattered robe and a crooked hat, rushed down the corridor and lunged at the infernal creature. The two wrestled in an animalistic brawl, clawing, punching, and biting each other. The goblin tried his damndest to dig his teeth or claws into the gaps in the armor, but when that failed, he pulled out a knife instead. The devil caught the reptilian's hand right before the blade could pierce his neck. They rolled around the ground before the infernal creature gained the upper hand and pinned the goblin's arms down.
"Goblins working with humans? Never thought I'd see the day," the devil remarked.
"They'd be lost without me," Cormag quipped back.
The devil's tail lifted and aimed directly between Cormag's eyes; before it could plunge down, a green-tinted, curved burst of wind sliced through the appendage and continued a decent distance down the corridor before dissipating. The devil shrieked—another limb taken by these cockroaches. Seizing the opportunity, Cormag kicked the devil off him and repositioned himself a few paces away.
Marcel, a light-skinned hunter with wind-swept blonde hair, wearing goggles and a leather jacket, walked up beside Cormag. Once the devil saw the swirling, vibrant green energy around Marcel's rapier, he bolted down the corridor. He could take a few direct hits, but his injuries were accumulating too quickly.
A red flash engulfed the hallway, followed by two distinct sounds of howling wind and booming thunder; the infernal creature looked back to see a lightning bolt spiraling within a raging wind tunnel. There was no time to react. The devil was scooped up into the vortex and experienced the worst electrocution of his life; the two combined magical attacks carried him down the corridor, through a room, and slammed him into the exterior wall of the neighboring building.
The infernal creature slumped over and fell ten feet to the ground; several bone plates were cracked from the multiple impacts, while the gale-force winds tore off others. Garrison, a light-skinned man with messy black hair cutting an imposing figure, dragged his morning star behind him as he approached the ailing devil. The stunning effect of the lightning bolt had worn off, but the infernal creature still struggled to get back to his feet.
"How many more of these hunters were there? No matter, this one made the mistake of taking me on alone," the devil thought as he regrew his tail with large, jagged spikes.
The devil rushed for the hunter, generating a set of vicious-looking claws. Garrison lowered his stance and swung his weapon full force against the devil's chest, with the morning star's spike ball suddenly tripling in size. In the brief moments before impact, the devil assumed it was an illusory bluff before being swatted into a nearby wall. He bounced off, with most of his armor breaking loose. Garrison then slammed his morning star onto the devil's back, sending him to the ground.
Garrison kicked the devil over and planted his foot between the creature's chest and neck; Garrison held his weapon a few inches above his target's face. It started heating up to the point where the bottom half turned reddish-orange. The spikes began to melt, dripping molten steel onto the devil's face.
"Blessings and Signomancy. I missed the days when you cockroaches fought with sticks and rocks," the devil remarked.
"The scales are tipping in our favor now; soon, you'll be selling your souls to us," Garrison retorted.
Garrison pulled the devil up by its neck as it writhed in pain; he tossed him up and then clobbered the infernal creature across the alleyway after the morning star expanded in size again. The remainder of the devil's armor flew off in a cascade of red-stained shards.
The devil bounced across the ground several times before stopping on the cobblestone street. Blood seeped out from seemingly everywhere; the icy air made each of his injuries burn and sting. He only noticed feeling in his left arm and leg as he crawled across the ground. Humiliated by humans and even a goblin, he would not stand for this normally, but he desperately wanted to escape his current predicament. Maybe he could come back with his own group, and then these cockroaches would be sorry.
He tore off his other horn; inside the dense keratin was a small dark core — black orichalcum. He ripped it out from the horn and then rolled the material in his hand, infusing it with his blood. The black material vibrated and shone with a deep red color. It left a chalky residue behind as he used it to draw a magic sigil. He was just about to connect the circle when a leather boot stamped down on his hand. Looking down at the poor creature was Alexander, a clean-shaven well-built man with short brown hair. A wide smirk grew on his face as he unsheathed his claymore.
The infernal creature spat, "Who are you bastards?"
"We're the Red Wolves," Alexander remarked as the other hunters slowly gathered around them.
Eight well-armed killers against one devil. Angered that he'd been beaten, he snapped at them, "Killing me means nothing. There's more, so much more! Another devil will take my place—"
Alexander raised his claymore above the devil's head, "—and they'll end up like this!"
The devil's head dropped from his shoulders as the orange glow from his eye forever faded.