Abigail found herself in a vast empty space, no longer surrounding herself with memories to make it seem more real. She couldn't afford to expend the effort to create scenery for them. Instead, she would need all her focus for the demon if she stood any chance of coming out of this alive.
As soon as she lowered her mental barriers to keep Surgat at bay, the demon's ugly presence locked onto her. It came hurtling out of nowhere and enveloped her. It had the effect of dropping her into an endless ocean of freezing cold water, and she entered a fight for her life.
Surgat attacked and manipulated, trying to scrub her out of existence and claim the body for its own. Its raw hatred contained mixed-in euphoria. It grew certain that it had won the fight, and now that she had nowhere left to run, it would take only a matter of time.
And it had it right; or, at least, it would have done under normal circumstances. Abigail couldn't possibly go toe-to-toe with the demon in a battle of wills. The creature just had to destroy this last little bit of the previous occupant, and the body would belong to it. The integration would have completed.
But she couldn't allow that to happen.
She had an ace up her sleeve.
Abigail waited until the demon pressed in on her and their identities intertwined, and then she focused on the last memory she'd visited, strapped down to the table. With her eyes closed, she let the demon come inside, and then brought out the name.
She spoke the demon's name.
Not aloud, but powerfully and with utter surety that she knew the demon. She knew the true and abstract existence it occupied and had the power to will it out of existence. Here, it acted as a weapon, emboldening her and giving her strength as it weakened the demon. It represented the essence of the creature and took away its power.
Everything stopped all at once, the demon quivering in horror when it realized the implications.
She could destroy him.
"I know your name," she said. "I know the real you."
"You know nothing."
"I know that you have no power over me," she said. "Not anymore."
"You think that you can defeat me?"
Abigail could feel its rage, as well as its fear. Then it came at her again, attacking even more furiously than before.
The name burned between them like a brand. Each time Surgat lunged, she spoke it again—silently, forcefully—and the demon recoiled. The binding worked the same way it had centuries ago when the original seven had first trapped Surgat. Their blood had sealed him, and their knowledge of his true nature had given them the power to bind him. Now that same knowledge lived in her.
But knowledge alone wasn't enough. The original seven had needed their combined strength to complete the binding, and she stood alone.
Abigail felt stronger now, more in control of the situation, but the fight remained far from over. The only difference now was that they stood on equal footing.
The demon adapted. It stopped attacking head-on and instead circled her, probing for weaknesses—memories she hadn't fortified, doubts she hadn't resolved. It found the guilt she carried for Arthur's imprisonment and pressed into it like a thumb into a bruise.
"You left him there," Surgat hissed. "Your own mentor. You abandoned him."
The words cut deep because they held truth. She had left Arthur trapped in hell, and that knowledge had eaten at her for years. The demon exploited the crack, wedging itself deeper into her psyche.
She pushed back with the name, and Surgat screamed. But the scream carried triumph beneath its pain. Every time she invoked the binding, it cost her—drew on the same blood-bond that the original seven had forged. Her body burned with it, and each use left her weaker.
The demon knew. It played a war of attrition now, goading her into using the name until she exhausted herself.
***
"More are coming," Dominick said, trying to catch his breath. Arthur glanced over toward the broken window. More demons gathered outside, and the larger ones looked about to enter the fray.
His arms ached from swinging the sword, and his feet throbbed where the broken glass had cut into his bare skin. Each step he took left a bloody trail on the floor, but he didn't mind the pain. Loved it, in fact, and let it wash over him. Just feeling the pain brought joy because that meant he could feel something. So much time had passed since he'd experienced any senses at all.
Arthur looked out at the approaching demons. Many of them he knew personally. Knew how dangerous those ones were, and even with his sword in hand, the Hunters wouldn't stand up long against them when they attacked.
The trio had bottlenecked the demons to the window with decent effectiveness, but as they became wearier, it would become more and more difficult to hold them at bay.
Worse still, the ground of the shop had split apart under their feet. He stepped back, avoiding one such rift, and turned to face Frieda. "What's going on?"
"The portal created the rifts," Frieda said. "But it has closed now."
"What does that mean?"
Frieda hesitated, chewing her lips, and then said, "The ground will collapse like a giant sinkhole."
"That sounds bad," Dominick said. "Is that bad?"
Neither of them responded.
Across the street, the town hall building crumbled as entire sections fell into the rifts. It made a shuddering roar as it fell apart and disappeared into the world below.
"We need to move," Frieda said. "It won't take long before this building falls too."
"What about Abigail?" Arthur asked. "Where is she?"
"We don't know," Dominick said. "But it's over. There is no going back."
Arthur didn't want to believe that. Even if the demon had taken control of her, no way could she have gone, gone.
Right?
"No, she can't."
"It's over." Frieda stood behind them and helped the other man to his feet. "We lost, Arthur. I'm sorry. Abigail has gone. If we don't try to leave right now, we'll go too. The portal closing gave us a chance, and we can't afford to miss it."
Arthur didn't have a good response but knew in his heart that Frieda had called it right. Even if Abigail overcame the demon, if they didn't leave immediately, then they would die regardless. He felt fine with dying, and in fact, had experienced death for a long time already, but he didn't want the other three to share the same fate fighting for a lost cause.
Arthur nodded his agreement. "We should go and, at least, make the attempt."
"We can leave out the back. Our car is parked nearby."
They edged toward the back of the shop, attacking any demon that came close, and moved in a line. The door, though locked, proved no obstacle for Dominick, who broke it open with the hilt of his knife.
The street behind the shop stood empty, which came as a relief. Frieda and the other man—Arthur assumed that was the man who had saved him—headed out toward the car. She half-carried the guy as they went, and he seemed thoroughly rundown and beat up. Arthur didn't know if he was a new Hunter or someone else, but he was grateful that the man stood with them.
Behind them, the demonic horde moved into the shop, making a lot of noise as they went. Arthur waited until Dominick got outside before following. He pushed the door closed and ran over to the car.
"Let's go." Dominick ran toward the car and climbed into the driver's seat. He turned on the engine, bringing the car to life. Arthur jumped into the passenger seat, and Frieda climbed into the back.
The other man, however, hesitated before getting in, glancing behind.
"What is it, Haatim?" Frieda asked.
"Abigail."
Arthur followed his gaze but couldn't see anything. Only the demonic horde. "I don't see her."
Haatim shook his head. "Neither do I, but I can sense her. Abigail needs our help."
Just hearing her name filled Arthur with raw emotion that he hadn't experienced in what felt like forever. His adrenaline rush had worn off now, and things had settled, and so he only just started to understand how much he had lost. Those years in prison and his time in hell, it seemed like multiple lifetimes away from his daughter.
"Abigail," Arthur whispered.
"Haatim, come on!" Frieda shouted.
"She needs our help," Haatim said.
"We can't help her anymore. We can't do anything. It's over. We need to get out of here."
Haatim stood firm. "No," he said. "There is nothing you can do."
***
Abigail fought for her life. The void surrounded them, a vast and incomprehensible emptiness for their final showdown. It all came down to this moment. She had nowhere to run anymore, no chance to retreat and regroup. This was it, and she fought like a cornered animal who understood that survival depended on this instant.
The demon saw that the end had come, too. Whoever won this showdown would gain control of Abigail's body. Even though she knew its name and had power over it, the beast refused to give up. It thrashed and struck at her, trying to break her will with brute force.
She spoke the name again, and the binding flared. The demon's assault faltered, and for a brief instant, she glimpsed the architecture of the original spell—the way the seven bloodlines had woven together to form a cage of living power. The binding hadn't just trapped Surgat. It had diminished him. Each generation that carried the blood had unknowingly siphoned away fragments of his strength.
That was why Nida needed all seven bloodlines. Not just to open a door, but to undo centuries of slow weakening. And that same weakening was why the name worked against him now—because the binding had never truly broken.
The realization steadied her. She wasn't fighting Surgat at full power. She fought the diminished remnant of what he'd once been, centuries of captivity having eroded him. The original seven had designed it that way, and their legacy endured in her blood.
But even diminished, the demon had more raw strength than she did.
It felt like their fight went on for hours, but time had no meaning in this place. It probably lasted mere seconds, or maybe no time at all. They simply floated in this place of unreality.
At first, it seemed as if they fought evenly matched. She pushed against the demon, and it pushed back against her, and nothing changed. They both fought to break through the other's defense and crush their will, and nothing concrete happened. However, finally, they each recognized a pattern in the fight.
The demon had more strength.
Slowly, and though only a centimeter at a time, they both realized that Abigail faltered. Inexorably, it crushed her, demoralized her, and it would only prove a matter of time before the demon won complete control and wiped her out.
Simply coming to that realization made the fight that much more desperate for Abigail. She would lose, which made continuing the fight at all significantly more difficult. Only delaying the inevitable, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, she couldn't win.
The demon gloated and redoubled its efforts. It wouldn't take long now before it had consumed her soul.
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