Page 30 of Demanding Discord
“You will obey my command.” I pointed at each of them. The first three trembled. The fourth let out a green cloud of foul-smelling gas from his backside before scratching his ass.
“Looks like some still recognize your authority.” Cinder stood beside me, rocking from foot to foot and clutching a knife.
“Imps are the lowest level of bipedal demons in the realm. Their brains are the size of pebbles, and they will follow any demon’s orders as long as they are fed.”
“I know a few humans like that. How do we kill them?”
“There’s no need. They will do as I say.” The moment I uttered the final word, the front door splintered with a thunderous crack.
Ducking his torso to fit through the threshold, the centaur charged into the house, his crossbow drawn, an arrow already notched. The imps turned, focusing their bulbous eyes on the source of the disturbance.
The centaur released his first arrow. I shoved Cinder into the bedroom, and the razor-sharp tip clipped my shoulder. He had already notched another arrow by the time blood pooled in my wound.
The centaur surveyed the chaos—shattered glass, impish bodies, the stink of sulfur hanging thick in the air. His hooves gouged deep furrows in the stone as he halted, his gaze fixed on me, an arrow aimed at my chest. He was armored in battered bronze, his chest plate etched with runes that shimmered in the dim light.
“Attack!” he barked, his voice echoing off the walls with the authority of someone accustomed to obedience. But the imps didn’t move.
“Priiiinnnce…” the flatulent one muttered, pointing at me.
“Prince?” The centaur’s eyes narrowed as he focused on my face. “Discord,” he grumbled and returned the crossbow to his back, exchanging it for a long blade. “I’ll have your head.”
“Why?” Cinder joined me in the hall, crossing her arms and jutting her hip to the side in a defiant posture. “Lucifer doesn’t want a horse’s ass by his side. You’ve got nothing to gain.”
His nostrils flared. “Perhaps I’m after a different kind of reward. One where you remain alive, enslaved to me for eternity.”
My rational mind shut down once again, primal instinct taking control at his threat, and I lunged toward him, plunging the knife into the exposed skin beneath his breastplate. I sank the blade so deep that half the handle disappeared into his flesh. He wailed and reared back onto his hind legs, his front hoof connecting with my head.
Splitting pain exploded in my skull. I threw the canned meat at a joint in his back leg, dislocating it. He screamed and stumbled, but his remaining three legs kept him upright.
“Wahoo!” an imp yelled, and all four scrambled toward the centaur, climbing onto his back and sinking their pointy teeth into his flesh.
He spun, his backend knocking over a cabinet as he bucked wildly, desperate to dislodge his tormentors. The imps clung to him, howling with manic delight. One gnawed on his shoulder while another latched onto his armor, scratching at the runes etched into the battered metal. A third imp scrambled up his back, yanking two arrows from his quiver before jumping off, shouting, “impetus!” and driving them both into the centaur’s flank.
His back leg gave out, his ass slamming onto the floor, cracking the stone as his front legs slipped out from under him and he fell onto his side.
“Must be nice to have your own minions.” Cinder charged and sank her blade into the centaur’s side.
“Kill the prince,” he bellowed as his sword clattered to the ground.
Cinder snatched it, raising it above her head, ready to decapitate our foe, when a massive demon…a spine ripper…barreled through the door and grabbed her by the neck.
12
CINDER
Well, this was quite the predicament. I’d seen Mr. Beefy in action a few hours ago, and I did not want to become his next Mortal Kombat tribute. His claws dug into the sides of my neck, piercing the skin with searing pain. My pulse sprinted, my arteries pulsing against his fingers with each rapid beat, and I tightened my grip on the sword, willing myself not to pee my pants.
The events that unfolded next happened so quickly, I’m surprised at the details I noticed. Discord roared, sounding half like a wounded animal, half like…well, like the Prince of Hell charging at his enemy in battle. He plowed toward us, wielding a can of mystery meat and bashing it against Mr. Beefy’s head.
That only worked to piss the guy off. He tightened his grip, lifting me from the floor, the tip of his claw hitting a nerve and making my entire left side convulse like I’d stuck my finger into a light socket.
The imps shouted and squealed, but I couldn’t tell if they were cheering Mr. Beefy on or if it was their battle cry as they continued their assault on the injured centaur. More shouts and footsteps sounded, the horde of demons descending upon us.
I gripped the sword with both hands, my palms slick with sweat. Discord jabbed a steak knife into the side of Mr. Beefy’s neck. The fiend fumbled, his grip on my neck loosening. An imp charged, bloody teeth bared as he climbed up my body and latched on to the bad guy’s face.
Mr. Beefy let me go. My feet hit the floor, and I spun, my stolen sword slicing into his stomach before I whirled toward the centaur and brought the wicked-sharp blade down onto his neck, slicing his head clean off.
The three imps on the ground cheered and scrambled toward his shoulder to lap up the blood pouring onto the stone. Gross.
