Philip Simpson - Tribulation

At the very last moment, Sam reacted. But he was still a fraction too late.

It was one of the male demons. One of the ones he hadn’t killed before. Thankfully. If it had been one of the demons he’d already killed, he wouldn’t have survived. As it was, the Cambion’s Hell-wrought blade pierced his side even as Sam’s sword darted out like a snake and plunged through the demon’s chest, killing it. It disappeared, but the damage had already been done. Sam clutched his side with one hand and it came away smeared in thick arterial blood. This wasn’t good.

Grunting, he managed to sheathe his sword, using this free hand to hold on to Yeth’s neck. Without it, he would’ve fallen. The rest of the Devil’s Hand materialized out of the darkness. Yeth didn’t need to be told, leaping away and soon out-distancing the remaining four members of the Devil’s Hand. Sam clung on for dear life. If he fell, the Cambions would have him.

As Yeth loped away from danger, Sam could feel his life leaking out of him. The Cambion’s cursed sword wound would not heal easily, perhaps not in time to save him. Already his other cuts were reopening, the Hell sword having reduced his body’s abilities to heal itself. He felt weak. Dizzy. The ceiling and sides of the tunnel spun sickeningly. Several times he almost toppled from Yeth’s back. Somehow, he managed to stay upright, clinging onto Yeth’s neck with both arms, heedless of the blood pouring from his wounded side.

In the distance, an oval patch of lighter grey gradually revealed itself. They were nearing the tunnel exit. Thankfully, Yeth had destroyed or scared off any remaining Lemure. They were alone in the tunnel.

As they emerged from the tunnel, that all changed. Several armed figures stepped out of the shadows. One of them stepped forward, wearing both a helmet and a mask to ward off ash. Sam, defenseless as a newborn baby, made no move to resist as the figure helped him off Yeth’s back, easing him onto the ground. He took it as a positive sign that this person must not be in league with demons. They would’ve killed him outright by now if they were.

In some confusion, barely able to focus, Sam noticed that Yeth had turned and was reentering the tunnel. He turned his head on its side to track his Hellhound’s progress.

“Yeth. Stop. Don’t go. I need you.” He forced the words out, gritting his teeth against the pain, desperately trying to remain conscious. “Take me to Hell. I’ll heal quicker there.” There was something n his mouth, making speech difficult. It was only then that he realized it was blood.

Yeth turned his great head, his eyes glowing in the darkness. No good. Devil’s Hand will follow. I will stop. Give you time.

Sam tried to sit upright. “No!” he managed to blurt. “They’ll kill you.”

Yeth ignored him, loping off into the inky darkness of the tunnel.

“Come back,” he yelled. “I command you!”

His weak voice was suddenly drowned out by automatic gunfire. All around him, the other figures returned fire, the noise deafening around the tunnel entrance. Shell impacts sparked and ricocheted all around him but Sam was beyond caring.

The effort was too much. He sank back down to the ground. By the time his head had hit the ground, he was already unconscious.

Sam woke with a start in an unfamiliar setting. He was lying on a dirty mattress in a darkened room, empty save for himself and some storage shelves filled with unrecognizable objects. He was naked from the waist up. His swords and pack were nowhere to be seen — in itself a disturbing sign. Outside, it was daylight. The single window in the room, covered by an old sheet, allowed only the most diffuse light through. A solid wooden door marked the only other exit from the room.

He didn’t bother to try and sit up. Experience had taught him that that was a bad idea after a bad injury. But then he remembered what had happened and sat up anyway.

Yeth. Where was his Hellhound?

The motion caused a wave of nausea to crash over him. He sank back down, both hands covering his eyes. Without doubt, the wounds he had sustained were bad. He must have lost a lot of blood too. He could feel the injuries knitting together though. Ever so slowly. His side where the Cambion had stabbed him was heavily bandaged. Even so, there was a dark stain of blood on it. It must be bad if he was still bleeding. Some of his other injuries were bandaged up as well. Basically, he was a mess, but he didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. He desperately wanted to see Yeth or at the very least, find out if he was ok.

Sam’s head was pounding, making it all but impossible to use his demonic senses. He had no idea where he was or who was around. For all he knew, there were a few thousand demons directly outside the door.

He was about to force himself to his feet when the door opened. A fatigue-clad figure entered. Vaguely, Sam realized this figure was female. He didn’t bother moving. It she wanted him dead, he would’ve been by now. So exhausted and befuddled he was that it wasn’t until she sank down on the mattress did he realize who it was. He tried to sit up but gave up in exhaustion.

A genuine smile flickered across Grace’s face. It lasted for a moment and then it was gone. “How do you feel, Sam?” she asked. The dimness in the room somehow contrived to highlight the scars on her face, a constant reminder of his failure.

“Weak,” he said, the words barely audible.

“Not surprising. It was touch and go there for a moment. Thought you weren’t going to make it.”

Sam thought he could detect some feeling there but it was hard to tell with Grace these days. It was just nice to have a polite conversation with her for a change.

“Where’s Yeth? Where’s my Hellhound?” he managed to croak.

Grace shook her head. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “All I know is that it went back in the tunnel. I think I heard sounds of fighting but it was hard to tell over the gunfire.”

So Grace referred to his Hellhound as an it, refusing to acknowledge him with a personal pronoun, refusing to recognize his relationship with Sam and how much the creature meant to him. Despite having been around Yeth quite a few times, she’d never even spoken to his Hellhound. Understandably, she had a great deal of mistrust and hatred centered around demons. Just because Yeth was his indentured servant didn’t make him any more trustworthy in her eyes.

“What happened?” he asked in a whisper. Speaking any louder just seemed to aggravate the wound in his side.

“You want me to go back to the beginning?” she asked. He nodded. “Not much to tell, really,” she said, shrugging. “I volunteered to go with one of the demo squads. Got here yesterday. Not what we expected.” She saw the question in his face and obviously chose to misinterpret it.

“This looks like an old Police Museum, somewhere in the lower East side, although I’m not sure whether I’m meant to know that or not. It’s hard not to know, what with all the display cases and signage everywhere. We’re not far from the tunnel where we dragged you. It’s basically the headquarters of the resistance. Luckily, we found them — or they found us — first. It’s a decent base of operations. Solid. Made of stone. There’s access to the sewers underneath here. That’s how we got you in. They’ve managed to keep their location a secret so far.”

“So, how did you…’

“Find you?” she finished for him. “Your creature summoned me. Let me know through some creepy mind pictures where you were and that you were in trouble. It wasn’t hard — we just followed the sound of screaming. Of course, that drew attention to us. Our new allies weren’t very happy about that for several reasons. The only reason they’re still alive for the most part is because they’ve been keeping under the radar. What you did last night wasn’t very discreet. Not only that, but let’s just say there’s a bit of suspicion centered on you. They might not know what you are, but they certainly knew what your pet was. You might want to keep your hood on when they come to question you.”