Page 4040

All wrong. Everything. Germal was floundering under the barrage of attacks. Desperately, he tried every different option that arose into his mind. Stop? Unaffected. Numb? Unaffected. Slow? Unaffected. Distract? Unaffected. Wipe? Unaffected. Break? Unaffected.

Of course not. Damian was already broken. Be smarter.

How? Damian was relentless. And how gotten the drop on him, besides. The man was not letting go of the upper hand, nor would he.

That look in his eyes. He had knowledge that he shouldn't. And he just kept talking. Smiling. Laughing.

"Even if you survive me here today, your loss is inevitable. Don't you see? Your struggles against oblivion are precisely what will doom you in the end. Because oblivion isn't even so. Your cowardice is exactly--"

On and on. A constant through the fighting. Germal reached out to Koh, but he already knew it was fruitless. The wolf helped only when he deigned to--and this was not one such occasion, apparently.

More nonsense. Useless thrall.

The domain was wavering now. Germal couldn't maintain it. The reapers would begin to regain awareness.

Agh, but perhaps that was good? With no context, maybe they would actually--

A truly sold blow landed on Germal's jaw, connecting far more deeply than mere flesh and bone.

Ettol felt it. The soul itself rattled.

He hit the ground and skid across the ancient stones. Blood smeared across his vision as he struggled for awareness. Germal? Ettol? Jonah?

Damian was there. Whaling on him again. He could scarcely even process that much, now. The world was blinking. Fading.

Was this death? Yet another failed incarnation? Ended prematurely?

Frustration was the only emotion in his mind. What a wasted opportunity.

But then it stopped. The pounding on his skull. His soul was still trembling, yes, but no longer in exponential manner. It was calming again. His thoughts, settling. Awareness, returning.

This body was still far from ready to listen, though. He felt like a smear on the floor. And perhaps was--or little better than. If Damian had started using that mysterious ability of his, then that wouldn't be a surprise.

But he still heard fighting. Shouting. Familiar voices.

Reapers.

And Parson. The man had finally arrived. Even later than usual.

But still timely enough to save his life, apparently.

Germal couldn't make out what they were saying, but the unfolding scene was obvious enough even without such details. Damian was arguing, no doubt trying to convince Parson not to interfere.

But thankfully, the madness was there, too. And Parson was sharp enough. It must have been obvious to him.

Next page on the 9th

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Page 4039

Impossible didn't even begin to describe it. Time had not been time. Who could have--?

He saw, finally. Damian was there. Moving when he shouldn't be able to. Seeing what he shouldn't be able to.

The man's eyes were as wide and wild as any Ettol had ever seen. And they were staring right through him.

"I see you, devil."

And the blows kept coming. Pummeling the incarnation's body.

Ettol lashed out with the Windlight. A surge of psychic strength. Released all at once, without aim.

A great pulse pushed his attacker back and left the small fortress rumbling. But that was not all. The wind stayed. It whipped itself into a frenzy, flowing to and fro with guidance from Ettol.

Agh. A wisp had slipped through. A nuisance, but fine. Perhaps even helpful. Not time to fuss over it, though.

Damian was not pushed back for long. He was blitzing straight toward him.

Not using that strange power of his? Fortunate.

Ettol raised a hand to summon full psychic force. Freezing the man in place would be the best solution, but maybe--

Damian was barely affected. He rushed through and swung again, forcing Ettol to dodge physically.

Now he was beginning to understand.

Psychic breaks could sometimes result in these sorts of unexpected reactions. It all depended on how one coped with the advent of madness.

Judging by the smile on his face, Damian wasn't minding it terribly.

Germal certainly was. That expression on that face couldn't have looked more wrong. Was that truly Damian?

There was no opportunity to contemplate it. Germal was a skilled hand-to-hand fighter, of course, but Damian had always been on another level when it came to such things. And if psychic attacks were going to be of limited use, then he didn't favor his chances here.

Damian was a tornado of blows, now--as if the wisp that had snuck its way into the room had chosen to bless every one of his attacks. It was all Germal could do to stay on his feet. Right hook, left hook, sweep of the leg, feint, jab, knee, grab, spin, fly.

It didn't make sense. Nothing did.

"This is what you fear," Damian was saying with a laugh. "Isn't it? You fear us seeing through you all. Growing stronger than you all. Showing you that we aren't your playthings."