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“I know,” he mutters.

“Can we outrun it?”

“We can try.”

“The stairs are free,” Sharmila calls. “But more of the dead are coming. If we are to flee, we must do so now.”

“What are we waiting for?” Kirilli yells. He hasn’t managed to cauterise his wound. Blood spurts from the jagged stumps where his fingers used to be.

“You think we can fight it?” Dervish asks, stepping up beside Beranabus.

“I don’t know.”

The window Juni escaped through blinks out of existence. That seems to decide Beranabus. “Let’s test it,” he grunts, moving away from the door, back towards the lodestone. “Maybe it’s not as powerful as it thinks.”

He unleashes a ball of bright blue magic at the Shadow. The ball strikes the creature directly and crackles around it. Its tendrils thrash wildly, then return to their almost tender caressing of the lodestone. Its body continues to throb. A high piercing sound fills the hold—I think the Shadow’s laughing at us.

Sharmila bends, touches the invisible barrier where the floor should be and creates a pillar of fire. It streaks towards the lodestone, slicing through several zombies on the way. When it reaches the Shadow, Sharmila barks a command and it billows upwards, forming a curtain of flames. The Shadow’s consumed, its tendrils retracting like a spider’s legs shrivelling up. But when the flames die away, it emerges unharmed, oozes over the lodestone and slides towards us.

Dervish leaps through the air and chops at a thick tendril. He cuts clean through it, severing the tip. The amputated piece dissolves before it hits the floor, crumbling away to ash.

The Shadow catches Dervish with another tentacle, roughly shakes him, then flings him across the hold. Beranabus halts Dervish’s flight and the spiky-haired mage drops to the floor a few metres in front of the magician, gasping with pain, his skin burnt a bright pink where the tendril touched him.

“Stuff this!” Kirilli pants, and darts up the stairs. I let him run. No point trying to make him fight if he doesn’t want to. Besides, I doubt he could make much of a difference.

About a dozen walking corpses converge on me. I work a quick blinding spell, then plough through them as they mill around. I squat by Dervish as Beranabus and Sharmila engage the Shadow, and swiftly cool his burnt flesh.

“Are you OK?” I ask as he sits up, dazed.

“Three,” he mutters. When I frown, he smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. I thought you asked how many fingers you were holding up.”

I help him to his feet. He gulps when he looks at the Shadow, but advances to try again.

“What can I do?” I shout at Beranabus.

“Get out,” he roars. “You’re the one it’s after.”

“But I can’t—”

“Go!”

Cursin

g, I turn and run. Before I’m even halfway to the door, I feel a whoosh of hot air on my back. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the Shadow directly behind me. It’s swept past Beranabus and his Disciples, barrelling them aside. They lie sprawled on the invisible floor. They’re picking themselves up, turning to help me—but too late.

The Shadow seizes me with several tentacles and lifts me high into the air. I scream, pain filling all parts of my body at once. It’s like being on fire, except the agony cuts deeper than any natural flame, burning through flesh and bone, turning my blood to vapour.

I somehow hold myself together. It takes every last bit of magic that I possess, but I fight the terrible, fiery clutch of the Shadow and wildly restore blood, bones and flesh as it grips me tighter and tries to fry me again. I’m absorbing memories from the beast, mostly garbled, but what I comprehend is more terrifying than I would have considered possible.

The Shadow’s surprised I’m still alive. It meant to slaughter me and absorb the freed piece of the Kah-Gash. But it’s not dismayed by my resistance. The beast is much stronger than me and knows it simply has to keep applying pressure. I can last a matter of seconds, no more. Then…

Beranabus is suddenly beside me, bellowing like a madman. He slashes at the tentacles, slicing through them as easily as Dervish did. The Shadow is more of a menace than any demon I’ve ever faced, but it’s insubstantial. It’s not by nature a physical creature. It can easily and quickly replace what we destroy, but it can’t harden itself against our blows.

I fall free and Beranabus drags me away. Sharmila and Dervish dart into the gap we’ve left and attack the Shadow with bolts of energy and fire. It makes a squealing noise and lashes at them with its tentacles. They duck and dodge the blows, punching and kicking at the tendrils.

“Go!” Beranabus gasps and tries to throw me ahead of him.

“Wait,” I cry, holding on. “I know what it is.”