With each stroke a body fell. Her arm did not stop moving, and when she solved a demon it ceased moving—not so much as a twitch as it returned to the soil. It was clear where the Butcher was heading.

“Here she comes…” breathed Cassius. “Ready?”

“Cassius,” said Dricus, swallowing. Cassius could smell his fear as it leaked from him, the gross salty tang of his sweat trickling down his ears. “Perhaps… perhaps we ought to listen to the Lord. He knows.”

“Hmm,” said Cassius, and with a slash of his wing he shaved off Dricus’s ear. With it that trickle of sweat. With any luck it’d take the fear with it, too. It was hard to be paralyzed by fear and pain at once; usually you had to choose.

Dricus chose pain. “Fuck!” he screamed, doubling over, clutching protectively at the stump for whatever reason. It wouldn’t bring the ear back. “You—you mad bastard!”

“Yes, yes!” laughed Cassius. “Good! I have no use for your fear, but anger I could do with.”

His army was being split before his eyes. The panic had gripped them. He could see the spread, the jolt flowing through the crowd. Then the screaming started in earnest. They weren’t even throwing themselves at her anymore, they were running, scrambling over each other to get out the way. Demons had their pride, but they were not insane. There was no more resisting this than there was resisting an earthquake.

The problem was they had not seen her bleed. They hadn’t seen her slow. That was what made the myth of the Butcher. She was clean, she was perfect, so there seemed no limit to her powers.

Once he showed she was made of flesh and bone she would fall like any mortal.

“Here she comes,” said Cassius again, wings unfurling. “Ready?”

“Fuck!” snapped Dricus, but the fire was in him now. His fists rose in a fighting stance. “Let’s crush the bitch.”

The tide had scattered into the stands. Those that hadn’t didn’t dare get within twenty strides of them. The Butcher strode at him with unnerving calm, and when she stared at him Cassius got the sense she wasn’t seeing him at all. She was seeing points and lines and weaknesses. Marcus had briefed him. It was still strange to feel it up-close; it was like those black eyes could see below the flesh and lay bare all your secrets.

Cassius wasted no time. His wings unfurled, and day turned to night.

It was a neat trick, his signature trick. Usually demons couldn’t cast spells. But this was really a mass expulsion of essence; some explosions stunned with light and fire—his stunned with sheer dark. The effect was the same—an instantaneous blindness.

How could you solve what you could not see?

Cassius vanished into the black. He was upon the woman in an instant. She was still staring at the spot where he’d been, utterly unaware as he loomed over her. The claws descended—

The darkness was gone.

It split down the middle, lost all integrity; the illusion melted away the way night melts before day. At some point he hadn’t even seen she had slashed through it, he realized.

Now he crouched over her, some great monster, fangs bared, claws outstretched, but monsters were always so much less scary when brought to light. He must’ve looked positively ridiculous to her.

Ah, he thought.

He thought he would fight her right. He’d had a strategy for when he’d encounter her. When he fought her he swore he wouldn’t underestimate her.

Ah.

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He took some consolation in the fact that he saw the sword coming before it carved into him. Well—not saw precisely—but he knew that some part of his right side would flare up in sudden sharp pain, and it did.

He fell gasping, but at least he had the presence of mind to wrap his wings around himself, to clutch at the blade as it exited with his claws, his toes, his wings. As luck would have it even his organs played a role—a few, cut loose, got tangled in the pommel. He had the sword trapped, if only for a breath.

“Go!” Cassius screamed at Dricus.

The giant charged her. Cassius allowed himself to entertain the hope that they had her.

Then, calm as ever, the Butcher stood, brushing a chunk of liver off her arm. As though all this was entirely within her calculations. There was a surreal moment as Dricus ran, almost in slow-motion, it seemed, when Cassius watched her roll up her sleeve, adjust her robes, and brush a strand of hair out of her face.

That was when he knew it was over.

Then Dricus threw his first punch. She slipped it at the same moment, like she’d predicted it.

Three strokes. One punch to the face, hook to the ribs, hook to the liver, thrown in fluid motion. Her fists were like cannonballs. Cassius would’ve found it beautiful if he wasn’t in so much pain.

Dricus slumped.

Then she turned to him, held out a hand, and the blade slunk free of his body of its own accord. Cassius was struggling to get up, to die on his feet, when the blade went through his neck.

***

Her body wanted to go out, but she couldn’t. Fire, healing fire, was stitching her bones together, but too much was broken.

Ruyi saw what the big humanoid one was doing, the one Mother had pummeled—he was crawling toward Jin’s limp form. He had a hand on Jin’s neck.

“Stay back!” He cried. His voice was deep and strong, but his tone was soft, trembling like a child’s.

Mother took a step closer and his claws raked across Jin’s neck. Blood welled up.

Mother halted.

The dullness in her eyes was fading. It wasn’t the Butcher who looked out anymore. Her sword arm wavered.

“Don’t hurt him,” she said.

“Drop the blade,” said the demon.

She hesitated.

His claws went deeper. Jin choked. “Drop it!”

The sword fell from Mother’s open hand.

None of them seemed to know quite what to do. Then the demon began to step back on wobbly legs, Jin clutched tight in his arms.

Mother’s eyes found Ruyi’s; they widened. That split second gave the demon a hint of what was coming, but it helped her, if anything, since he turned, exposing his arms to her, and she lunged with what little she had left.

Her fangs sank into his arms. She bit down, piercing skin, muscle, finding bone.

She heard his cry. She felt something shatter in the limb, saw the fingers give, saw Jin slump, then a huge force slammed her skull. She was flying, splattered against the floor; he was trying to get her off him, but she wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t fight him—only her fangs would still listen. He struck her with something that split open the skin on her head, drive a point deep into her skull. After that awful night she thought she’d felt all the pain there was, but there were so many different flavors she hadn’t known. This one was especially bad. She wanted so badly to scream, but it was Jin. Still she didn’t let go.

The bashing went away. Something thumped into the ground beside her head, and she was looking into his dull staring eyes, his great blackened head planted on the rubble, leaking red.

Jin was safe.

***

Yun Li’s sword hovered over the head of the final demon.

Nearly seven feet in length, smooth midnight skin striped with brilliant blue. A snow lioness. She had seen hundreds of demons, never a snow lioness; she’d only heard of them in the legends, as a Calamity of Hell. What was one doing here? There were but a handful of Hellbeasts in this realm, and each was treasured by its demon warlord—each was a pillar of their strength. It was astonishing they would let one here.

They must’ve really wished Jin dead.

It might have been quite a sight when whole. Now it was crushed nearly beyond recognition. She hardly needed to relieve it of its life. It was well on its way there.

When she’d met its eyes, she was shocked at how lucid it seemed, the resolve in it. It attacked the demon holding Jin—that had been no accident. Perhaps it was some prior grudge. It had saved Jin, however unintentional.

It couldn’t lunge if it tried. All its limbs were bending the wrong way.

Its eyes met Yun’s, and she was shocked again. They seemed so familiar, and when they watered they were so full of feeling. It seemed almost human.

Then it began to shrink.

The streaks melted to pink skin. Its fangs receded. Its nose faded to something small and button. Its body was like a human’s, like a body recovered from a building collapse, so badly crushed it was a miracle it still lived; it was like a sack of sand. No bones were left to give structure to it. Only the eyes seemed to stay the same. They held Yun’s gaze, bright and sad and demon-red.

“Rue?” Yun whispered.

Her sword arm wavered as her daughter’s eyes rolled back.