England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
Dyowl's Hollow - Woods of Dartmoor
5 November 1898, 11:02 pm

As the demon's burning eyes settled on the revolver, he let out a shrill, deafening laugh. The next moment, barely more than a blink later, he was suddenly standing directly in front of Ben. The demon's features were still a misshapen grimace as his claws closed around the pistol and curved it upwards. The metal groaned under the pressure as the red eyes seemed to bore straight into his soul.

"Do you really think your little toy can help you a second time?" the voice scraped like scratching nails. Dr. Archer seemed trapped in a stupor, unable to stir under the hypnotic gaze that held him in a nameless spell.

A grinding sound seeped between the two men. A tense, drawn-out crack, then the doctor's eyes widened. The weapon groaned under the weight of many centuries crushing its form in a matter of seconds. Brown rust began to spread over the iron like a sickening disease in the blink of an eye, crawling into the barrel and eating away at the proud tool of battle as if it were no more than termite-infested wood. Suddenly the revolver could no longer withstand the pressure of the long fingers and, sighing and cracking, disintegrated into crumbling pieces that trickled to Dr. Archer's feet.

The doctor turned paler, the color drained from his face and he could do no more than stare after the remains of his trusty revolver. Before he knew what was happening, the demon was already stretching its deadly claws in his direction.

כוחות עליונים, אויב שלי, הוא רוצה להשתולל. להעניש אותו, לשבור אותו ולהפיל אותו (1)

The demon turned its head and leaped backward in a great bound like a predator before the flash of light could strike it. Kyle's outstretched fingers followed him, the wizard took a deep breath and gathered the strength and concentration for another counter-attack. But Ben's spirit also caught itself again.

"Keep going!" roared Dr. Archer. His voice broke halfway through his sentence. Breathlessly, he pressed his hand to his side, his face contorted in pain, then tugged the second revolver from its holster and pointed it at the demon.

Several shots rang out, but the beast hissed like a wild animal and leaped to the side in another bound to avoid the bullets. Long claws dug into a trunk and tore holes in the bark. On all fours, it crawled up the trunk like a lizard or a spider, twisting its head at an unnatural angle in their direction. Ben felt his heart pounding loudly and fast in his ears. His eyes darted through the oppressive darkness as he clung to the last remaining weapon as if it were his insurance to life.

With an equally wild throbbing rhythm, Kyle pressed the stick into the ground again. He hurried to continue drawing the line. The circle had to be as round as possible, even if they lacked the time. He had already drawn a long furrow in the forest floor when all at once he lost his footing. As if the earth had suddenly turned into quicksand, his weight pulled him down.

Before he understood what was happening to him, his upper body hit the muddy ground and he immediately stretched out his hands in an attempt to cling to something. Panicking, he looked up and saw the demon, his eyes turned towards him, pointing his left index finger at him. This bastard was actually using the Melting Earth spell against him - and trying to bury him alive with it!

The hole in the ground that had opened up beneath him threatened to swallow him up, skin and hair. Kyle could only with great difficulty prevent his upper body from being pulled down by the muddy, wet ground. He desperately grabbed sticks, roots, and stones, trying to free himself from the muddy embrace with the strength he had left, but he kept slipping and sliding a little deeper.

In a few seconds, the earth would surround him completely and he would suffocate miserably. Kyle slid deeper, greedy mud now already pressing against his chest and tugging relentlessly. His fingers pressed into the muck with all their might. Mud and small stones oozed between his fingers, and he slipped again. His fingers slid crampedly across the forest floor. At the last moment, they caught a sharp-edged stone.

The attack against Kyle claimed the demon's full attention, seeming to distract it, and Ben saw his chance for a surprise attack had come. If he could blow a load of lead into its head as he had last time, it would at least distract the beast from Crowford and the wizard could break free to complete the circle. Dr. Archer peered over the barrel and down the sight with both hands on the gun. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, and finally held his breath. Then he pulled the trigger.

Click.

Benjamin froze.

Then he pulled again.

Click.

He saw the demon slowly turn its head and felt its neck tighten. His eyes slid to the loading drum. Black, empty holes stared back at him. No glimmer of iron filled the chambers. His hand went to his side in panic and reached into the leather ammunition pouch. Rough. There were the walls, and the open flap and the doctor felt sick. He had forgotten to close it again and now there was no single bullet in it to ease the swelling storm inside him. It rushed over him as if a dune had started to slide above him. Benjamin froze, his fingers going once more into the empty pocket. Coarser, more desperate, more panicked. No. NO!

Dr. Archer lost focus. The colors and sounds around him blurred, blurred, and his heartbeat began to race. All at once, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead and Benjamin's fingers began to tremble. Although he told himself to pull himself together, he had to lean against the tree to keep from sinking to his knees. Suddenly he felt hot, then cold again. He smelled gunpowder and desert sand. The doctor's eyes jerked up, searching for the demon.

If he could have, Dr. Archer would have jumped in fright. But the hard tree was at his back and before his body could think of an evasive reflex, long fingers closed around his neck and squeezed. They closed like a vice around a defenseless piece of wood and just as unyieldingly around his neck.

What chance did he have without his revolvers? No ammunition meant he was defenseless. He had nothing with which to defend himself. His thoughts ran completely blank, any sensible approach buried under the panicked memory of his helplessness in the desert.

"Ah..." the demon almost purred. "Mortally afraid..." A rolling sound as he opened his mouth slightly and the forked tongue slid out to taste the sweetness of the moment from the air. "You are right to be afraid, Doctor." Long, sharp nails pressed into Dr. Archer's neck as they pushed him up against the rough bark with the superhuman strength he had never experienced in his life. It took all his strength to dig the shards of his self-control and will to survive out of the deep sands of his mind and strike at the demon.

He might have been able to overpower another human being if he had been in his right mind and form. If he had a weapon, he could still have gathered his courage. As it was, however, all his fear of the Sudanese desert sands paralyzed him and this monster WAS not human. 

Ben felt his own warm blood on the back of his neck and the pain pressing into his senses. He opened his mouth, but only a gasping gurgle sounded through the pressure. Ben tried to find his footing, to support himself somehow with his legs. He pressed the soles of his feet against the bark and braced himself. The pressure around his throat and neck grew. The demon was ready to slowly and gleefully snap his neck or rip the pulse of life right out of him.

Kyle was now up to his chest on earth. He could hardly move his legs and the lower part of his body, the enormous pressure of the earth pressed on his muscles. Only with the last of his strength did he manage to hold on to a bent root that kept him from sinking into the open maw. The mage gasped, his arm already shaking under the dwindling stamina that was making his fingers numb.

"You keep failing because you are unwilling to rise above the limits of your ridiculous morality. There is a price to pay for everything. And sometimes you have to fight dirty to get what you want."

His father's voice pressed into his thoughts and bitter bile rose in his throat. Everyone wanted to make his father proud. To have him look at you with appreciation in his eyes. HE, on the other hand, wanted his father from hell to watch in the cursed knowledge that he would never become like that and take his path! He had broken away from it. But now, once again, he may have had no choice. Damn how he hated teetering along the edge of failure, the cursed precipice on all sides and only a narrow rope between him and the final fall.

"Shit!" hissed Kyle, biting his lip so hard he could taste his blood. His arms shook, and the suction tugged at his body and coat, making it hard to breathe. In the distance he saw the cursed demon grabbing Ben.... he had to act. "Fuck!" he groaned, then gripped the stone tighter and dragged it across the back of his hand. The pain was always the price of great things. The sharp edge ripped the thin skin, causing red blood to ooze from under the stains of moonshine.

Kyle felt the crack that was pulling into the veil at that moment. The strength of a force beyond his comprehension pressed down on his existence, threatening to crush him beneath it like an unimportant ant. Then it was gone again. His body was grabbed and thrust the next moment. He felt like he was going to roll over completely once, his stomach twisted, and then leaves rustled under his feet. Muddy earth clung to his clothes, muddy and heavy. With a flop, a final scrap fell to the forest floor as Kyle pushed back the nausea of the jump and turned his eyes full of tongues of fire on the demon and Dr. Archer.

Biting pain stabbed his left hand, blood flowing down the back of his hand and down his wrist. The injury blackened instantly around the edge of the wound, feeling like acrid acid as rivers of ink spread like delicate veins from it. Still, Kyle gritted his teeth. He pressed the fingers of his right hand into the same wound to draw strength from the renewed sacrifice and then jerked both hands into the soft earth at his feet.

Ben gasped. The revolver fell clatteringly from his other hand and remained on the forest floor between a few leaves like a fallen soldier. The demon's eyes were fixed on him in an expression of sadistic rapture as he took his time squeezing slowly and with relish. Ben's mouth was dry as he gasped for air like a fish on land. A stiff breeze swirled a few leaves and brushed his forehead full of sweat drops as if to ease his suffering as he kicked and squirmed. The lack of breath sent a rush into his head and his thoughts melted into sand.

Then suddenly he saw movement and his eyes widened. The earth began to rumble all at once and Benjamin stared at the creaking, groaning roots that rose from the earthy forest floor like a monster of their own, writhing tentacles. Dirt and earth trickled to the ground, stones fell clattering from the bark of misshapen root strands, so that now the creature's head also jerked around.

Like powerful tentacles, they grabbed the demon's form so suddenly that it yanked him off his feet with a roar and he hit the ground face-first. Now it was he whose claws scraped the ground as the roots yanked him backward. He squirmed and braced himself against the roots, roaring. Cracking, a few of them snapped, then a new thick root drove forward and pinned him down. Benjamin fell to his knees, coughing as he stared at it and his gaze flew to Crowford.

The mage had his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes fixed on the demon. Ben reached for his revolver, which lay in the dirt of the ground. It was empty and useless - he knew that. And yet he couldn't leave it lying there, just couldn't let it out of his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably. Even then, as they closed around the metal and he pushed himself upwards to sprint to Crowford. The latter, using the twisting roots, dragged the demonic beast across the forest floor, between some larger firs whose broken and scrawny branches stood out like thick stakes from the trunks.

Then the mage suddenly stretched his hands up in the air and reached out as if he could actually see something that escaped the doctor's eyes. Sweat mixed with blood and dirt on the magician's skin flowed down his temple and cheek and dripped from his narrow chin onto his chest as he groaned and pulled his arms together. The doctor stepped up to the mage, seeing the trembling effort in his struggle. Ben could not imagine what it was like to strain his mind like that.

Kyle felt the resistance of reality. Magic was nothing more than using brute force to penetrate this structure and impose one's will on it. With smaller things, it was easier once one had grasped how it worked. But this was a challenge even with the help of blood magic. But then, finally, a deafening crack sounded.

It was as loud as a roll of thunder and you could see the trees twisting around the spot where the demon, with the rage-distorted roar of a beast, was struggling against the roots, completely beside himself. The huge crowns of the pointed conifers twisted, and the trunk groaned under the violence done to it. The many years old wood screamed out its suffering in its way as the thick colossus broke splintering and Kyle now tightened his clenched fists in a jerk.

As if the resistance had finally died and the summit had been reached, it became easier. In a deafening roar, three of the massive trees toppled toward each other. It was a single wave of wooden rumble. Branches broke under the force of the fall, taking other branches of surrounding branches with them. Leaves and coniferous branches rained to the ground and rattled there like thousands of snakes. Then the ground shook perceptibly beneath them as the weight of several tons came crashing down, burying the creature beneath. A cloud of dirt swirled up, a stiff breeze rushed over the scene and then a heavy, oppressive silence descended like a curtain.

(1)  Hebrew: Higher powers, my enemy, he wants to rage. Strike him, break him and bring him down.