Page 129 of Red Demon

Mahakal landed a blow on my jaw. But his eyes were unsteady, face blue.

Pulling the chain tight, I fixed my legs around him and rolled him over, driving his head into the stone wall with the chain, kneeing him hard in the groin. Far readied her swing.

“Far, no,” I said.

She froze mid-motion as Major Mahakal purpled, his grip against the chain weakening.

“Let me, please.”

With a nod, she tackled Mahakal from behind, her weight adding to the pressure on his already compromised air supply. She took the chain from me, loosening it only enough to hear him gurgle.

Fury pulsed in my head, rage fed by the relentless nightmares of everything Mahakal had done. Everything she…

I hefted the ax in my hand.

“You told me once you killed with justice, slow or fast, depending on what they deserved.” Clarity stilled my ragged breaths. “I have some justice for you.” I lifted the ax and drove it hard into his groin. His eyes widened. “That’s for Faruhar’s mom.”

Faruhar blinked at me. She jerked the chain again.

“Then there’s my mom.” My voice held steady in the storm. I hacked off a finger in one shot, the metal grip on the ax cold in my hands.

“Bella was twelve!” I roared, arcing the ax down in a sickening squelch to Mahakal’s foot.

Faruhar loosened the chain for his scream and tightened again, ensuring the death would be slow.

“Sora, Samantha, Cara!” I screamed, bringing the ax down again and again, this time connecting with more fingers, moving up his arm, severing a fresh sliver with each blow. A spray of crimson painted the stone wall behind Faruhar as he twitched.

“Iden, Mal, Oren.” His feet, his remaining hand. Mahakal’s struggles grew feeble, his grunts turning into gurgles as the stone welled with blood.

Asher’s mouth was moving, forming words I couldn’t quite grasp—nothing I wanted to grasp.

“Galen, Meragc, Atalia—” With each name, each face I loved, I hacked at his arms and legs, scything him bit by bit, a litany of the lost, a chorus of the wronged.

“Jesse,” Asher said.

I ignored him.

“Plato, Ruan—” Each blow clanged to the stone floor, a rhythm as easy as the hammering of Galen’s forging press. He was a mess now, his blood dribbling from stumps of limbs, but still breathing. Chaeten-sa did not die easy. I kept hacking, bit by bit.

“Jesse!” Asher gripped my arm, his face horrified and pleading in the flickering glow.

I shivered away. “Dr. Garla … Juna … Hector…” I said, sobbing between swings.

It was Faruhar’s touch behind me that made me pause. She should be behind Mahakal, making sure he died. Making sure this ended. He’d get away.

“Don’t get up!” I said.

But she blocked my arm when I brought up the ax once more, heavy, dripping crimson. My gasped breaths were ragged, my body quaking.

“You’re not him,” Faruhar said, her cracking voice an arrow between my ribs. “You’re not me, either.”

Faruhar stood rooted to the spot, her knuckles white on my arm until I lowered the ax. Her gaze flickered to Mahakal’s ruined body. He breathed rapidly and shallow, pale with his one good eye unfocused. She stared down the storm within me until I broke.

“Strike cold, without malice,” Asher said, voice breaking. “Niire Mai.”

I closed my eyes with a nod. “Niire Mai.”

Faruhar stepped away as I raised the ax for the last time, severing Mahakal’s head.