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His boots slid back across the floor of the fighting ring, slipping through puddles of blood, until his back was pressed flat against the cage. He tensed every muscle in his body in effort to stay in place, to not have the spellwork covering the ring sear his flesh into smouldering chunks.

Eyes wide, breath tearing apart his lungs, Darien scanned the inside of the cage: the shredded body parts, the puddles of gore, the weapons that wouldn’t do shit against this thing. He and the others had barely managed to kill the monster in AA’s library as a team, and even then it’d only worked because he’d had a grenade. Alone? And without a grenade?

He stopped the thought before it could root itself in the melting mess of his mind, in his heart that was already breaking in half over this stupid mistake he’d walked into.

He had to kill it. He had to win, or he would never see Loren and his family again.

The creature kept slamming into his magic, roaring in anger, droplets of spit tinged with an oily black substance splattering the invisible wall, as if it were a window. For one horrible moment, Darien feared it would break through with nothing but its saliva, the way the thing at the Strangler Fig had melted through the magic of the Fleet bodysuit as if it were butter.

Curling his fingers into fists, Darien threw more of his magic out, expanding the barrier, forcing the demon back, back, back. It dug its clawed feet into the floor, ripping the canvas into shreds.

Darien kept pushing, nostrils flaring, chest heaving with the force—until the creature’s protruding spine was pressed up against the far wall of the cage. The magic keeping them contained in the ring singed the thing’s otherworldly flesh until it was steaming. It howled in pain, thrashing against Darien’s hold.

“Darien!” Casen’s voice cut into his focus. The Butcher was at his back, banging on the cage. “Cassel, are you hearing me, you deaf fuck?!”

“What?” Darien’s voice lashed out like a whip. “I’m a little busy, in case you couldn’t tell!”

“What do you want me to do?” It was the first time Darien had ever heard fear in the Butcher’s voice; he nearly didn’t recognize him. “If I shut off the spells—"

Darien looked over his shoulder at Casen, whose features were obscured by the latticework of the cage. “Don’t!” Darien bit out, rivulets of sweat trickling down his temples. “You can’t let that thing out of here, or we’re all dead.”

“You’re going to be dead as soon as you run out of magic!”

Magic.

Magic…

Darien’s head whipped forward. For a moment that lasted a lifetime, he watched the creature, writhing under the tethers of his hold—his magic. The magic that used to be invisible, but was now a transparent black wall undulating like smoke. It curved around the monster, shadowy chains holding it in place.

“Get me Stygian salts,” Darien barked over his shoulder. “And Venom. Lots of them—now.” With an outward thrust of his hand, he threw another wave of power into the creature, pinning it harder against the cage, the metal at its back bending under the force.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he became aware of Casen shoving a plastic bag through the cage, swearing under his breath as it barely fit through the opening. The spells only covered the latticework of metal, allowing the object to fit through.

Darien caught it before it could hit the floor, fingers trailing in a puddle of blood. He pulled the bag open, nearly tearing the plastic, and shook a pile of salts into his palm. He held it up to his nose and snorted them, airways burning as the crystals shot up and into his system. And then he took the small bottle of Venom that Casen had thrown in with the bag of salts, unscrewed the cap, and dripped two drops into each eye.

His blood immediately electrified with the effect, heat spreading through his veins. A feeling of buoyancy lifted the weight off his chest, allowing him to regain control of his mind, to think clearly through the panic. Closing his eyes, he felt his lungs become a little fuller, his heart a little slower, his mind a little calmer.

When he opened them again, they were black. Solid black, his magic at full capacity.

Pushing away from the cage, away from the Butcher who was yelling something at him that he didn’t hear, he stalked toward the creature, treading on body parts that squished and bubbled with blood beneath the soles of his boots.

Summoning every bit of magic he had in him, Darien began an assault on the creature. He threw all his power into it, every bit of force he could scrounge up, ripping into it like no bullet or blade could do.

The cage at its back kept bending and bending, warping to the shape of its body. The spellwork screamed as if it were alive, as if it, too, was struggling to contain this thing. An awful screeching and groaning carried through the room, the monster’s screams blending with the shriek of distorting metal and strained magic.

Darien pushed himself harder, driving the creature’s body further into the cage, the undulating shadows of his magic expanding like spilled ink. The reek of burning flesh coated the inside of his nostrils and throat.

A wild scream tore out of the demon, and suddenly it leapt forward and struck, breaking through the wall of Darien’s magic. The shield he’d thrown up fell instantly, like glass shattered by a fist, smoke dropping to the floor and curling away.

The monster leapt over him.

Darien ducked, falling forward to the floor of the Chopping Block with a crash that rattled his bones.

The creature burst through the roof of the cage, completely obliterating the metal and the spells holding it in here. The spells were gone, nothing left of them but a wisp of smoke and a smattering of glowing specks, like sparks from a fire.

Where he was sprawled on the floor of the cage, Darien gaped.

It wasn’t possible. At least, it shouldn’t be.