The Vortex’s warbling quiets as I pull up to the scattering of Hell-bikes. Moonshadow blade in hand, I leap from the Vortex. “Good riddance! Nasty thing!” I shout as I kick it over, slashing its worb in half. Two handfuls of wisps flow out in a viscous gush of fossil fuel crap. The wisps lift. Finally liberated from the worb. It lays broken on the ground. A dark sphere whose insides remind me of razors, geodes and reaction chambers. The wisps rise up. Sluggish. Beleaguered. Relieved. I run to another Vortex, cut its wisps free, then pivot to smash a devil’s worb, move on to the next. In a half minute of flurried activity, all twenty-odd worbs are broken. About a hundred wisps drift around me. I’m swimming in a soup of souls.

Plumacats pause in their devouring rampage. Their raptor gaze tracks me. I’m doing my best to ignore their feast. It sickens. A fierce justice. What did Grimjaw say? Something about preying on predators. I turn to Zaya, she’s right behind me, a hopeful expression overlays the desperation on her face. Her eyes reflect fire blazing from the meteor-like orbs rising from the distant scorpions, arcing toward my poor Urdrakes. They’re running flat out again. I can hear Zorfang’s raspy breathing through omnis scientia. All as out on the Wisp Fields, the distant Vortex-wail from the main group of devils grows louder. Though it’s still faint, I figure they’ll be on top of us in less than ten minutes.

I reach my hand out to Zaya. “Are you ready?”

Zaya takes a breath, sings a brief note to draw the collection of wisps in closer. “Yes.” The word is soft. Like telling a secret. She grabs my hand. Hers is so tiny. Fragile as a flower. I fold it into mine, focus on my energetic vessel. It’s nearly doubled in size since I last focused my mage sight upon it. Despite my excessive use of magic, it’s still three quarters full. More energy than I know what to do with. Except for this — liberating souls from goddamn devils. Gifting them with a second life and the ability to fight back. I feel the spark run between myself and Zaya as our energies merge. Mottle quivers on my back. He senses the energy too.

“Ready. Let’s make it right.”

Zaya smiles, sings words like the wind, the rain. Words I cannot understand, but in my mind I see them as the vital songs of glaciers. Of deep fjords. Of cold, teeming oceans. Zaya’s is the song of a living world. Not this tortured place — choking on its own poisoned spew and vomit. The sparks between us lift. My energetic vessel forms a wave of magical force. It explodes outward in streaks of lightning rising into the green Hell sky. Painting the pre-dawn night in an instant of white. Wisps around us are taken in by the flashes. They elongate, forming translucent glowing sacks that bulge into flesh. Feathers sprout. Horns and shells elongate or harden. Bat-like tapestries spread. The light fades. I’m momentarily blind. When my eyes adjust, ten new Urdrake, fifteen Mottles and eighteen Plumacats stand, flop, or crouch before me. Our force of thirty-seven has now grown to eighty. I shift my magical sight back to my energetic vessel. It’s still about a quarter full.

Zaya’s song continues. She took more than last time. I now have far more to give. She’s not using any of her own reserves. She’s alert, her bright eyes lighting up with the sparks of our magical embrace. Her song shifts, swirling in the dark wisps passed over by her music. They bleed into my shadow in a flood. It bulges, spouts tendrils, forms wicked shapes that would make for great Halloween costume fodder back home. Here in Hell, it’s more than a little freaky. Like my shadow’s about to eat me up. Maybe it wants to. One hundred and forty eight dark wisps now lurk behind me. Seventeen bright wisps dance in my name curse. My energetic vessel, now nearly empty after Zaya’s final use of my magic, begins to rapidly fill. I sway in the heat. Magic’s outrush has left me light-headed. The in-rush — buzzing.

I scan the gradual land depression where we stand. We’re somewhat hidden. Though I don’t think the oncoming devils got a direct view of what Zaya and I just did, they sure as Hell saw that light show. Shit’s going to be coming at us fast and hard now. I look at the new-formed as they stare back at Zaya and me with eyes filled with love and wonder. We don’t have time to talk it all out with them. I’ve got maybe a minute before I need to get everyone moving again. Suddenly, the scorpions light up, flinging four more Hell balls. These rise along a new path. I don’t have to glance for more than a moment to see they’re heading directly toward us. Yeah. They saw our magical lights all right. I’d hoped Zorfang would get into position in time to start attacking the scorpions by now. But he’s still running flat out from under the second volley of Hell balls.

I touch Mottle as I lurch back from my magical embrace with Zaya. I need you to get the other Mottles. Tell them to fly over to the new-formed. Give them as much of what we know as they can in about a minute. Do it on the run!

Mottle hesitates. You are weak, he thinks in his matter-of-fact way.

“Yes,” I reply out loud. “No help for it. Now go so you can get back to me fast.”

Mottle flits off. His leaving sets me reeling. I didn’t realize how much he was supporting me physically. Now I feel like I weigh about a thousand pounds. I can barely stand without him. Mottle lands on Zephyr. They both vibrate, calling in the other Mottles. All from our thirty seven fly over. The new-formed Mottles hesitate a moment and then respond to the vibration. Soon there’s a huge pile of Mottles all sharing their thought-touch. I turn to the non-Mottles.

“We gotta run.” I point to the sky at the meteors gradually rising. “That is our destruction. Featherstar! You gather the new-formed Plumacats, run to the end of that gully.” I point to the crevice from which our ambushing scouts emerged. “Wait for the rest of us to catch up. It’ll provide enough cover.” I hope it’ll provide enough damn cover. The crevice’s deeper portion is about a quarter mile away. Featherstar doesn’t hesitate, she nods acknowledgement, meow-talks a few commands to her group, then pairs up to guide the newformed and wounded as they run off together. The new-formed lope out on shaky legs, slowing them down. The two wounded Plumacats, now off their bikes, limp but manage to keep pace as healthy cats help them along. Their movement is still faster than I could run flat out. They’re Plumacats after all.

I shoo Theri and Zel along after them. They don’t have their nasty Vortex bikes anymore. So they’re going to have to haul ass to keep up with the Plumacats. They seem to realize this. After a quick glance between them, they’re off — trailing behind the sleek, quick predators. Zaya hovers near me. She’s blinking in confusion. I can tell she’s afraid but wants to hang back with me.

“What are you looking at?” I ask her. “Why aren’t you gone yet?”

Zaya approaches, touches my head. “But…” she trails off. She can see I’m swaying on my feet. She’s clearly worried about me and is terrified at the same time as the giant Hell balls gradually close in.

I grab her hand, touched by her concern despite myself. “I’ll be OK, Zaya. I’m a tough girl. Now go on. I want you with those Plumacats!” I motion to the swiftly receding black-feathered forms of the velociraptor-tigers. Zaya at last relents. With a sigh, she flies off, her iridescent wings forming a rainbow blur around her in the growing orange glow.

“You’d better be there!” she shouts over her shoulder as she flies off.

I blow out a sigh. What’s it about Zaya that makes me feel so… here? She’s got this unique ability to connect. To show care and concern. I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to the present emergency. The Mottles have all finished their thought-transfer thing. As one, they flap off like a swarm of bats from their roost at eventide. Mottle returns to me. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Yeah. Hell is too goddamn hot without Mottle to keep me cool. I don’t even think I can breathe this foul air without him. I’ll need to work up some kind of magic to keep me standing at some point. I’m no friggin’ expert on healing magic like auntie Sadie, though. So I’ll be blundering around in the magical darkness. First things first. Don’t get burned up by the devils’ weaponized versions of soul meteors.

The Mottles are chasing around some fearful Urdrakes. I lift my hand. “It’s OK,” I shout to the Urdrakes. “They won’t hurt you!” The ten Urdrakes stop to blink at me. I’m not sure they’re cluing in on what I’m saying. But they slow down enough for the Mottles to land. The words cost me. My head swims again. I bend at the waist, grab my knees. My heart’s racing. I feel like I’m having some kind of heat-induced asthma attack. Goddamn, I’m so fucking lagging right now.

“Ouch! Wow! That feels so much better!” Mottle just landed on my back and bit-fed the effing daylights out of me. Headrush! Whew! Do I feel stronger! Mottle is like a goddamn flying medic and food source combined. His bite IV injections nourish, rejuvenate, stimulate. “Thanks,” I say to him. He says you’re welcome by quivering. In the time it’s taken me to absorb the nutrition and energy Mottle’s injecting into me, the other Mottles have filled the Urdrakes in enough on present events to have scared the living daylights out of them.

Three point toward the sky. One haroooms out the word “Death!”

“Yes! Good! We’re going to run like all get-out! Follow me!” I shout, then hop-glide about a hundred feet down into the gully. Its rough terrain blurs by below me. I land on a boulder. My breath’s still rasping, my heart’s still hammering. But Mottle’s taken the edge off. The other Mottles flap in beside me. They start to land. “Go! Go!” I shout to them, motioning to the Plumacats running away up ahead. The Mottles land, give me a vibrational quiver conveying reassurance and acknowledgement, then flap off fast toward the Plumacats. It takes about ten seconds for the Urdrake to catch up. When they do, I flap off about another hundred feet as Mottle turns me into the Myra version of a flying squirrel.

Overhead, the orange light of the Hell balls grows brighter. I look up and no longer see burnt up marshmallows. I’m now reminded of effing planet-bombs from that old anime Dad loves to watch — Starblazers. Yeah. The frigging devil “Gamilons” are raining down fucking planet bombs on my head. I shout at the Urdrake to move faster. They are running as flat-out as their stubby turtle legs will carry them. I’ve made about six of my flying squirrel jumps. We’re still about halfway from the gully’s end. I can feel the heat from the falling Hell balls on the back of my neck. I can feel it on Mottle too. He’s kind enough to share his heat feeling. I’m grateful-not-grateful. We’re not going to make it.

“Find cover!” I shout as the Urdrake rush up. The giant orange balls fall toward the broken wreckage of devil bodies and Vortexes some seven hundred feet away. I motion for them to jump behind rocks. They get it — flopping down behind boulders and into low spots. Doing the turtle thing, they draw their heads and legs into their shells. Cool. Wish I could do that. I jump down behind a rock. Mottle flops over me like a big, fleshy blanket. It makes me feel safe for a second. I push my senses out through omnis scientia. Hell if I’m gonna die, I might as well enjoy the show, right?

Four gigantic fireballs explode in the air about fifty feet above the wreckage from our last battle. A blast wave as a visible fucking wall of air and debris rips the place apart — flinging earth, bodies, the broken bikes in every frigging direction. A rapidly expanding ball of fire follows. I literally see rocks the size of cars disintegrate into bits as that fireball rips through them. With a roar that causes me to yell and grab my ears, the shockwave and fireball rushes toward us. It destroys every fracking thing in about the radius of a city block. Beyond that, it hurls a rain of debris. By the time the shockwave hits us, it’s slowed down to like category four hurricane force. Rocks the size and shape of knives fly over us. Sand and dirt blast around us. Mottle quivers from the force. It lasts a moment that seems like forever. Then a second blast wave hits us — sucking back toward the center of the goddamn explosion. Jesus fucking Christ! These things are goddamn nuclear! Once the second blast wave is gone, with my ears ringing in the tinnitus aftermath, I gather myself. I stand up. My limbs are all there. Mottle’s got some bad scratches. But he’s good too. We chose our boulder well. Its front face has literal shards of frigging red-hot rock embedded into it.

Now I know why Zorfang was so frigging distressed.

I motion to the Urdrake. “Better move!” I shout. My voice sounds quiet to me. Lucky if I didn’t get my eardrums blown clean out. Nine Urdrake stand, sprouting legs, arms, tails, head from out of shells. One doesn’t get up. Still laying face down on the ground. Too far out in the open, it got shredded by three large bits of shrapnel. Busted right through his shell and now he’s bleeding out. Oh fuck! I hop-glide over to the place where the turtle-monster lays. Arrive in time to hear his death rattle. My magical sight pierces his dying flesh, sees the wisp fading beneath. With a quick motion, I draw my moonshadow blade from the air. I’d never halted the magic feeding it. It leaps into my hand. I lay it flatwise across the Urdrake, extending its light and shadow to his wisp.

“Come on. Take it. There’s shelter here.” I lift my name-curse over him. It’s constantly shedding sparks now. Can’t be helped. Too much magical energy’s flowing through me to not be bleeding off major excess. Ignarus is mostly an after-thought. So pretty much everyone sees me for what I am. A mage blazing with magical energy.

The Urdrake’s wisp flickers, almost goes out, then lifts. Drawn by the moonshadow blade’s pull, it rides up the magic-formed sword and passes into my name curse. A bright wisp, if somewhat small and shrunken. The other bright wisps within my name curse cluster around it protectively, granting some of their energy to support it. I breathe out a sign. “I almost lost ya there. That’s good. Now take a rest. You’ve earned it.”

The other Urdrake are staring at me. Their mood is one of combined wonder and relief. I stand, dust some of the crud off. “Alright! We’re all safe or accounted for! Let’s move!” The Urdrake haroom acknowledgement. Then, together, we start running like Hell again. In about a minute, we’ve linked up with the Plumacats and Mottles. Our group of seventy-nine devil slayers is again mostly unscathed after the ambush and incoming fire. One loss — a new Urdrake, not five minutes alive, whose wisp I managed to make safe. It’s a loss I’m feeling pretty hard. And there are bound to be more. I blow out frustration. Despite my jangled feelings, I’m still having another “I’m alive!” wave of euphoria. It’s about the third tonight. No time for it. I’ve got to use this force before we’re all blown off the face of ever-hating-Minos. Hell. Minos is Hell. Yeah. That’s what devils call it. I’m a bit rattled and my emotions are all over the fracking place. That’s OK, it’s understandable. I got planet bombed and we just had our first death.

**********

Ranthvar drives in front of his Lance as it roars alongside four scorpions. Just minutes ago, the monstrous wisp harvesters had unleashed a barrage of devastation orbs. They were targeting Urdrakes along a ridge-line in the Razor Hills who’d given their position away by lighting up the sky. Ranthvar still doesn’t know what they were shooting at. Nor does he care. They’d been foolish enough to give themselves away. Now it’s their turn to feel the sting. The devastation orbs fall to impact. A series of explosions, impossibly bright and large even at this distance, blossoms over the ridge-line.

“If the Urdrakes are still on that ridge, they’re dead,” His second, Svelthre, speculates.

Ranthvar grunts affirmation, then shouts up to the scorpion crews. “Eyes front! Keep a watch for any of those tell-tale white lights. Ready another barrage!” The crews spring into action, pulling levers, they activate the wisp vats to harvest raw energy. Though not traditional worbs, the vats contain a fluid that sucks energy from the wisps. Hellish machinery attached to the vats transfers this power into a chamber in the massive scorpions’ tales. The orange globes of devastation orbs begin to form at the scorpion tail-tips. Growing as they fill with destructive force. Even from high up on the scorpion tails, Ranthvar can feel the orbs’ heat, hear the hum of their rising power.

They continue their steady advance. The distance between the scorpions and the ridge-line shrinks to seven miles. Lavross, is two miles ahead and moving swiftly now. Talith is already running up some of the smaller hills about six miles away. Ranthvar sees no sign of Amagash. No word’s come back from his Lance. He scratches his left horn-tip, wondering if the hot-head got himself into trouble. Won’t be the first time. The Urdrake on that ridge may number ten or more. If he engaged such a powerful group by himself, he might’ve suffered defeat. The longer contact with Amagash is broken, the more likely things went bad for him.

“Ol’ Amagash might be in trouble.” Ranthvar chuckles. The notion of Amagash defeated and sent limping back, humbled, triggers a warm glow of self-satisfaction in Ranthvar’s chest. Often, other devils thought of him as slow and plodding. He liked to think things through before acting. If others mis-interpreted his calculations for stupidity, so be it. Amagash had been one of those most ready to label Ranthvar ‘slow.’ Now who’s out there in the wind? Now who’s lost contact with the main Century as an unexpected large number of hostiles run rampant in the field. “Stupid hot-head,” Ranthvar mutters to himself in satisfaction. “Now maybe the glory will fall to Talith.”

Svelthre remains silent.

Then, up ahead, fire erupts. Talith has passed into a depression out of Ranthvar’s sight. Rifle reports loudly echo. Sparks rise, blossom into flares as bright as small suns, then fall down. Ranthvar’s breath catches. Even he, not yet an Overseer, can sense this magecraft. His nostrils flare as its saltpeter scent wafts out toward him. Strong. Very strong. Its presence calls to him. His inborn lust for power ignites. The wisp that produced such force is mighty, indeed. “Regina stands to gain much once she possess it,” Ranthvar mutters to himself. He can’t help but feel jealousy. “Such a soul…”

Then, from the hills and along a closer ridge, more white lights erupt. Urdrake are shooting their beams down on Talith! They’d moved, quick for Urdrake, to a new rise and are now firing their bright beams at Talith’s Lance. Ranthvar counts the lights before they fade. Thirteen! “Asmodeus’s Might!” Ranthvar curses despite himself. He points to the Urdrake’s new position. “See those lights!?” He shouts up to the scorpion commander.

The commander acknowledges with a thumbs up.

“Target and launch!”

In about ten heartbeats, the scorpion tails swing back, then lift in graceful arcs. Wom! Wom! Wom! Wom! The devastation orbs launch — growing in size even as they fly toward their targets. Closer now. The Urdrake will have less time to react. Ranthvar grins, reveling in the four blasts of outbound death and torment. This was battle. Not just some invigorating mage hunt. But a glorious fight against Asmodeus’s most ancient and hated foes. Ranthvar’s momentary elation is equal parts greed for the inevitable profit and glory of taking a mage wisp and religious zeal for the invincible might of Asmodeus.

“Ready!” He shouts up to the scorpion crew leader. The scorpions once more begin to hum as wisp vats churn out the energy needed to form devastation orbs. Ranthvar shifts his gaze back toward Talith. A second set of bright sparks shoots out, falls down. More rifle reports. Beneath that sound, Ranthvar guesses he hears a chorus of yowls — faint at this extreme distance. The Urdrake’s white lights blast through it all. His mind slowly churns through the incoming details. Thirteen Urdrake on the ridge. A mage and some other things fighting Talith in the depression. “How many of those bastards are out there?” He mutters to Svelthre.

“Enemies?” Svelthre asks with a sidelong glance to Ranthvar. “I’d guess at least twenty. Plus the mage.”

“I wonder if Amagash’s even still out there,” Ranthvar is careful to keep the relish out of his voice. But an unfamiliar feeling, a quiver of fearful uncertainty causes his horn tips to tingle. “I suppose there could be more.”

“No good information’s coming back,” Svelthre replies. “Regina’s freaking out. Sending in Dressler. Lavross is charging off to beat down a still unknown enemy.” Svelthre pauses. Tests her words. “This could be… challenging.”

Ranthvar grunts. In the back of his mind, a dark shadow begins to unfold. He imagines those hills swarming with Urdrake and other forbidden forms. Just waiting to pounce. He shakes his head. “You watch. Talith has them.” His assertion, though, belies his uncertainty.

In the depression, all is now quiet. He can’t see what’s happening over the land rise. It’s infuriating. Then, Asmodeus-be-damned white lightning shoots up into the sky. For an instant, all of the Wisp Fields are illuminated. Then, a second smaller flash silhouettes the depression’s rim.

“The fuck!?” Svelthre exclaims.

Ranthvar feels the same way. “That’s form maker-lightning.”

“We don’t have form makers,” Svelthre says.

“No way that mage has form makers. Unless…” Ranthvar’s slow-moving yet meticulous mind runs through the possibilities. Urdrakes on the ridge in large numbers. A mage. Form maker lightning. Forbidden forms come from… “It’s got to be a Vila. Asmodeus-damned Vila! And a mage! Fuck!”

Svelthre looks at him, aghast. Ranthvar is not known to descend into cursing or to fall prey to wild speculation. “A Vila? Isn’t that unlikely? Aren’t they all dead? Extinct?”

“Not all. Every now and then a Poacher finds one. There were rumors that a group of Poachers discovered a Vila out closer to the shore. They’d sent word to Regina, asking for quite the bounty. Regina demanded proof. They said they’d bring it along with other prizes. They were supposed to arrive at Overseer in a day or two.”

“Sounds dubious.”

“Listen. Look. Urdrake on the ridge. Talith now offers no resistance after getting hit by Urdrake, Plumacats and a mage. Then there is form-maker lightning. Forbidden forms!” Ranthvar tilts his head back to the scorpion crews. “All fire on Talith’s position in that depression!” Ranthvar points as he shouts.

The scorpion crew commander looks over his beast and down at Ranthvar. “Sir? Did I hear that right?”

“Do it!” Ranthvar shouts. “Don’t make me say it again!”

“But Talith!” Svelthre objects.

“Talith is dead!” Ranthvar exclaims, his words punctuated by the Wom! Wom! Wom! Wom! of scorpions releasing their devastation orbs.

**********

Lavross seethes with rage.

The firefight over Talith’s Lance was a fucking disaster. The mage conjured so much magic that it set half his force of Vortex riders to slavering at its delicious stench. Then, the mage hurled some kind of long-range accurate missile and blinding flare combined. The Urdrake blazed away at Talith’s Lance from the Razor Hills. The yowls of at least ten fucking Plumacats sounded through the cacophony. It was about that time when Lavross realized both Amagash’s and Talith’s Lances were both total losses. Then the fucking thunderbolts of form-making shot up into the sky amidst another wave of deliciously powerful magic. Lavross knew that probably meant only one thing. A Vila had linked up with the mage. They were turning wisps into fucking forbidden forms!

Lavross did not at all blame Ranthvar for hurling devastation orbs down on his prize. The mage thus-far had proven more wily and resourceful than anyone expected. The orbs would force the mage to scramble, would degrade his force of rebels. And this new form-making presented a serious threat. Mages could help Vila craft forbidden forms. Forms like Urdrake and Plumacats are deadly predators to devils if left to gather and hunt. But the process of making them is draining. By themselves, Vila could only shape one or two at a time. With a powerful mage to assist, they might shape ten, fifteen… Lavross considers the prodigious magical force he just witnessed… maybe twenty per day. Between the Urdrake and the Plumacats, Lavross is pretty certain they’re dealing with twenty-to-thirty. Plus whatever the mage just conjured up. So thirty-to-fifty.

“That’s a lot of fucking forbidden forms,” Lavross growls to himself, his toothy maw chomping out each word in vicious bites.

Lavross glances side-long at his five Lances. He has fifty Drivers on Vortexes here along with the support of Ranthvar and the scorpion crews. Against even fifty forbidden forms that still gives him the advantage of numbers and firepower. The Asmodeus-damned mage is the wild card. He must be running out of magic after such prodigious expenditures. What a prize! Lavross hasn’t heard of such a strong mage in Hell in centuries. Perhaps ever. He wonders if Asmodeus will step in to claim the wisp for himself. And the glory of this mage’s capture is his to take. Lavross is heady with all the possibilities. Yet, if this night had revealed one thing — it was that capturing this mage was a deadly gambit. Amagash, Talith and both their Lances — likely gone. This was war. Lavross needed to treat it as such.

“Vorthis!” Lavross shouts to the Lance leader on his immediate left.

“Overseer!” The clever devil says as he snaps a casual salute.

“I want to you take your Lance around to the left of that gully! Attack any hostiles you see there! Expect heavy resistance! Go now!” The ten Drivers break off, their Vortexes spewing dirt, rocks and pollution.

“Exantha!” Lavross pivots to the Lance leader on his right.

“Ready Overseer!” Exantha, a newly minted Lance leader, exclaims with her own stiff salute.

“Good! Now you run down and take the right flank! Heavy attack! Numerous hostiles in that gully!” Lavross points at the land-fall that’s now just four miles away and is closing fast. Exantha’s Lance roars off, taking an arching sweep toward the gully.

“Everyone spread out!” He shouts to his remaining three Lances. “Skirmish formation! Encirclement! Expect incoming fire! Urdrakes! Plumacats! A powerful mage! We shall take them! For the glory of Asmodeus!” His Lances let out a loud cheer. They brandish weapons — rifles, swords, axes — as they increase the spacing between each Vortex to about a hundred feet. They form an inverted bow a half mile across. The open end faces the gully. Exantha and Vorthis keep their own Lances in tight wedges. These shoot like spears toward the mage and his group of rebels. Lavross’s hand itches to lift his rifle, to swing his Night Axe. He taps his worb, froms his signature black shell of deadly spirit energy around his Vortex. This action of diabolical magic draws another cheer. Lavross lifts his fist — pumping the air in expectation of violence.

“Tonight! We conquer!” His shout echoes through the night.

**********

My force is huddled at low spot in a gully snaking out into the Wisp Fields. There are seventy-nine of us. We’re mostly Plumacats and Mottles. But now I’ve got this badass force of nine laser artillery Urdrakes. That means I can seriously reach out and touch someone. We’re just going to have to shoot and run like Hell. But first, I’ve got to make sure Zorfang’s ready. I drag my hand through omnis scientia. Tapping my link with Zorfang, I sense his position about three-quarters of a mile to my west.

“Zorfang! You still there!?” I shout through the sensor.

“Yes father!” He sounds even more out of breath than before. He’s had to out run two of those Hell ball volleys. Having just escaped one by the skin of my effing teeth, I don’t envy him.

“Are you ready?”

He harooms loudly. Omnis scientia jumps from his loud exclamation. Almost jolts my hand out. Yeah. I’d say he’s ready.

“Fucking great! Now I want you to light up those scorpions. The bastards have been hurling Hell balls down on us for long enough. Now it’s their turn to taste some pain!”

“They shall no longer see!” Zorfang shouts. “I swear it!”

“Fanfriggingtastic! Do it!” I pull my hand out of the link. Everyone’s staring at me again. They’re all huffing from exertion. But they’re ready.

“OK, everyone listen up! I’m going to make some changes so I need you to execute quick!” I turn to Featherstar, the scouts, and the veteran Mottles. “You old Mottles! I’m going to need nine of you to switch out with the new Mottles. Five for Grimjaw’s scouts. Grimjaw, you keep Shade.” Grimjaw and Shade made one Hell of a lethal team. I’d be a moron to break that up. “Four from your Plumacats, Featherstar. Do it now!”

There’s a rustling as the Mottles fly off. Featherstar starts to protest, but sees the Mottles already in motion. My Mottle’s got the rest of the Mottles pretty much toeing my line. Which is damn good. I don’t have fucking time to explain everything right now. These veteran Mottles gather to do their wall hanging thing beside me along the gully’s slope. “OK. I want you Mottles to team up with these Urdrake. I know you won’t be able to glide-fly with them. This is more for sharing knowledge. Ride with them and show them what the other Urdrake do. Because I’m going to need their beam crystals in about sixty seconds. Go! Do it now!”

The Mottles fly over to the Urdrake. Mottles have more trouble attaching to the Urdrake than a squishy hooman like me or the sleek Plumacats. But they manage. They look kinda comical — like rumpled bags hanging over the spikey and squat Urdrake.

“Now! You new Mottles — link up with the veteran Plumacats. I want you to share what you’ve learned so far with these Mottles. I expect you guys to be up to speed quick. Then pair up in buddy teams with the new Plumacats. So a vet Plumacat plus a new Mottle each to a new Plumacat. If there’s a odd cat out, send them to me. They’ll come with us.” I point to Zaya, Zel, Theri, Mottle, myself and the nine Urdrakes. The Mottles and Plumacats team up.

As they do this, I move to my next concern. “Wounded Plumacats! You’re with me as well. Slow for you is fast for us and the Urdrake. So hurt Plumas are with us.” In total, I end up with four Plumacats. One of the new Plumacats who didn’t have a buddy and three wounded. I somehow missed wounded number three. But this battle’s been fucking crazy. So it’s understandable I’d miss something. Battles usually are, I imagine. Like I’ve ever been in a fucking war like this before! Jesus H!

I look over my force. They’re as reorganized as they’re gonna get. It’s taken me about two minutes to do this. I loft omnis scientia to get a better view of what the fuck is going on. Up close and personal, about fifty devils on Vortexes are breathing down my neck from like two miles out. Four more Hell balls are flying toward Zorfang. But two of these are off-kilter — hurtling into frigging nowhere. I can tell why when I see the scorpions, now about six miles distant, lit up in white as the Urdrakes lay those awesome laser beams down. Looks like some of the devils operating those damned things are dazzled or otherwise fucked up. Fuckin A! That said, two Hell balls are heading straight toward Zorfang. He and the Urdrake are running over the Wisp Fields fast as their stubby legs can carry them even as they bombard the scorpions with white flashes. A plume of smoke begins to trail from one of the scorpions. I let out a cheer. Everyone on my side pauses to stare at me, puzzled over what I’m suddenly so happy about.

It’s all good. Time to get their attention anyway. “Now we’re going to do a little bait and switch! We’ve got fifty devils on Vortexes heading our way. What they don’t know is that we outnumber them. So we,” I point to my force of Urdrakes and crew, “are going to be the bait. And you,” I point to the rest of the Mottles and Plumacats, “are going to be the switch.”

“My bait group is going to run up out of the other side of this gully here. We’re going to shoot at those Vortexes with our Urdrake as we run like there’s no tomorrow. At this range, we should be able to get a decent number of them. The devils are already after us. So they’ll try to chase us down.

“That’s where the switch group comes in. I want you to spread out in a line along this gully. When those Vortexes chase us, when they get close enough, then you pounce!”

The Plumacats have really gotten into my description of them pouncing. This elicits a chorus of excited yowls.

“Just make sure you keep eyes on the devils so you can position yourself to attack them. They’ll have to come at us or get picked off by the Urdrake. So your positioning’s gonna be key.”

Grimjaw and Featherstar exchange a look. “We shall hunt them,” Featherstar says as she licks her jowls hungrily. The casual predatory gesture kinda freaks me out. But I don’t have time to pause.

“OK! We are off!” I gather my bait group and lead them to the other side of the gully. Featherstar and Grimjaw are already having their switch group spread out along the low ground. I pop up, springing into the air as Mottle does his flap, then glide thing. I allow myself to trail sparks, fly about fifty feet, then land on a boulder. I’m deliberately creating a spectacle. As I land, I see the Vortexes are less than a mile off and closing fast. We’re still of their weapons range.

The new-formed Urdrake are rushing up to me. “Mottle, I want you to transfer my orders to the Urdrake through the other Mottles.”

Mottle quivers his affirmative response.

As the Urdrakes cross my position, I shout “Turn! Target the Vortexes! Fire!”

Nine Urdrake ponderously spin their turtle bodies around. Nine Mottles balloon up like parachutes to reveal rows of crystals ridging along jagged shells beneath. Nine beams of white light streak out. In that flash, four Vortexes blow up. They spin and cartwheel — throwing riders through the air. Debris rains down. In response, the Vortexes increase speed. They’ve hit their damned red and golden buttons. I can hear the high-pitched wail of tortured wisps ground down in terrible worbs. Pollution and trails of dirt rain in nasty rooster tails behind.

“We run!” I shout, then do two fly-hops. Covering another hundred feet, I find a mound to stand on as I wait for the Urdrake to catch up. Those powerful flashes of light take about ten seconds to recharge. I’m guessing we’ve got two more shots before those devils get into rifle and fireball range. Then shit’s gonna get hot. I check my energetic vessel. It’s already about a quarter full again. I’m not sure I know how to burn it off fast enough to go negative. Good thing. I’m probably going to need it all.

The Urdrake arrive at my mound. “Fire!” I shout again. They spin, shoot. This time, three bikes are destroyed. The devils are weaving from side to side. Makes it tougher for the Urdrakes to zero in even though the range is shorter. Still, we’ve already more than decimated them. That’s gotta hurt! I jump down. I’m fracking so damn exhausted. But I run with them anyway. I slap hard shells. I slap fleshy Mottle bats. I shout words of encouragement. I’m fucking hoarse. I don’t even know if they really understand me. That’s OK. My tone of encouragement seems to be helping them along.

After another hundred feet, I call a stop. “Fire!” I shout again. Beams streak out toward bikes that are about half a mile off. Damn! They’re moving crazy-fast! I focus on the left group and unleash my own magical blasts. “Vexare Verberare! Una! Lux!” Five intensely glowing missiles streak out, causing this group to slow down as they’re suddenly flash-blind. My volley rips through a front rider who takes two shots through the torso. My other three missiles fly off. The Urdrake down three more. Then the devils’ rifles are up. It’s long range. But I hear bullets start to snap through the air near my fucking head. The mass volume of fire making up for loss of accuracy.

“Get down!” I shout, slamming into ground. Rolling. Taking cover behind a rock. Well shit! I’d hoped to get another volley off. Then I see a mass of fireball rounds shoot out from the devils. Holy Hell! The whole of the Wisp Fields to my north flower in blossoms of fire like a Hell version of the Fourth of Frigging July. Again long range. But some of those balls will reach us. “Up again! Run!” We make it about fifty feet before the flames are on top of us. I spin, draw in about a third of my present magic, do a Mottle-jump into the air above my scrambling buddies. Confractus! I incant as I hurl an arc of incandescent blue magic into the onrushing inferno. Five fireball rounds made it to our position. Confractus unravels four. The last, though weakened, explodes around us. Praesidia! Clypeus! Protective magic envelops me, then forms a dome above my allies. I draw hard from my energetic vessel, desperate to save my friends.

The gouts of flame push clypeus into my chest, blast holes through praesidia. I breathe in sulfur stench and extreme heat. But the bubble holds. I fall back, landing in my blue protective bubble with a loud ‘thunk!’ When the flames clear, I see the smoldering forms of my company rise. Praesdia absorbed the brunt of the explosion. Most of us are still standing. Though my gut drops as an Urdrake and a Plumacat lay still. Spinning, I see the first devils are almost to the gully. Ten of them led by this nasty big guy riding his Vortex in a jagged field of darkness. He’s brandishing a wicked axe that slings spines from his dark aura as he swings it about.

“Shoot what you can from here!” I shout. “I’m going back in!” Time to pivot. I lift my hand. “Vexare! Verbarare!” The missiles of magical force streak toward the big guy with the axe. He’s clearly the leader. With my other hand, I draw my moonshadow blade from the air. My exhaustion forgotten, battle elation threading fire through my veins, I charge.

As I fly forward, as my missiles converge on the hulking devil surrounded by his field of darkness, Featherstar, Grimjaw and the Plumacats pounce. The ones paired with Mottles leap into the air. They take a single enormous flying bound. In a moment, twelve Plumacats and twelve Mottles are ripping through this leading force. My missiles impact on the big devil’s black aura. Four are snuffed out in darkness. One streaks through, blasting his shoulder in a spray of blood. Though his arm falls limp. He seems unrelenting. He lifts his dark axe and cleaves clean through a Mottle-Plumacat pair. They fall to the ground. Instantly dead.

“No!” I shout as I see two of my companions — two creatures I had a part in making — instantly reduced to dead material by the devil’s vicious strike. I land on the gully’s lip opposite the fight. I’m still about a hundred and fifty feet off. My eyes are only on this devil now. Mottle and I glide-fly over the gully. From behind me, the lights of Urdrake flash. Up ahead, there are explosions as Vortex are shorn by the laser-like blasts. More devils are converging. Some shoot up as I descend toward the fray. My shout of clypeus! to deflect their rounds is an afterthought. Though wounded, the lead devil fights like a titan. He makes a gesture with his axe, three spikes of darkness shoot out from his aura. One of the spikes fells another Plumacat.

At last, I land beside this terror. My shell of clypeus sparks as it contacts his own dark field. “Finished!” I shout as I hurl my moonshadow blade. It slams through the black shell, but is deflected. Its trailing edge catches the Vortex wheel — sheering a chunk of it off. The devil is hurled toward me. He tumbles through the air, axe spinning.

“I see you mage!” The devil howls in Minosian. “A mere girl! Surrender to Asmodeus!”

I snap my fingers, conjuring my moonshadow blade back. The dark axe falls. Spikes of darkness claw at my protective bubble of clypeus. Parrying with my blade of light and shadow, I spin beneath the axe, tumble past a spine of darkness that pierces my shield. Pushing beneath his arm I thrust the moonshadow blade upward. It buries deep in devil’s flesh.

The devil howls in pain, opens his maw — filled with teeth the size of my thumb — then lunges down to bite me. “Amplio! Macto!” I shout, channeling my massive flood of magical energy into my sword in the form of a devil-smiting curse. White-blue energy blasts through the devil, shoots out the other side. His form splits in half. Topples. Mouth still agape.

I feel wet on my belly. Look down. There’s a deep cut where one of the dark shards from his weird devil magic shell got me. I put my hand over it to stop the bleeding. Spinning, I look around. The last devils are trying to run away. Getting blasted to pieces by Urdrake fire. Ripped apart by Plumacats. The predators are feasting. Their Vortexes — destroyed or on the ground idle. Off to my left about a half mile off, two massive Hell balls explode. I sit down. A touch to omnis scientia tells me Zorfang’s not there. He’s OK. He’s still shooting and moving.

“Good!” I say. Then more weakly. “Gooooood…” Whew. Why do I feel so light-headed? I look down. There’s a big pool of blood. “Woah. That’s a lot of red,” I say. Mottle quivers in upset. Does his bite thing. It revives me a little. But I’m getting weak quick. He’s freaking out. Calling for help. Shouldn’t I be the one freaking out? Why does everything seem so distant? Then Featherstar is standing over me. With one giant paw she pushes me back.

“Hey! I didn’t say you could do that…”

“Shush,” She says, then begins licking my belly with her big raspy tongue. I musta just passed out. Because everything just went black there for a second.

(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

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