here, D.”
He wheezed; fatigue laced with shocked agony.
Allan fared somewhat better, able to step back from the creature. The way he moved made her imagine a great wind trying to push him toward the manifestation. Unlike Dorian, he did not begin to unravel.
Kirsten jumped up, channeling her psionic energy at the dark spirit. A sense of its form spread through her mind as her abilities clashed with it. She held her hands out, pushing against the demon’s advance. Allan backed through the enormous foyer while she held it off. Inky smoke roiled as it fought off her influence; crimson eyes burned to bright orange. It stared at her.
“Mommy! Help!” Evan screamed from her earbud, sounding like a sudden voice-only call.
Kirsten expected a creature like this to play mind games. However, having it simulate his voice in a way that seemed more believable than being behind her caught her off guard. Her concentration lapsed at the alarm in the child’s voice, allowing the creature to slip forward. It lunged at her, plunging an icy hand into her chest, just at the base of the throat.
It pulled, dragging a ghostly image out of her. Living eyes rolled back into her head as her spectral form peeled loose. Ghost-Kirsten struggled against the hand around her throat as her body convulsed behind her. As the separation moved down past her ribs to her hips, she found the presence of mind to stop fighting physically. Desperation rode a wave of psionic energy, which hit the abyssal with tremendous force, blasting it apart into a diaphanous cloud.
Kirsten’s spirit snapped back into her body hard enough to launch her into the wall. White wainscoting crumbled around her as she bounced away and rolled into a heap of splinters and plaster dust.
“Kirsten!” Dorian shouted when she remained limp on the ground.
The abyssal glided into the room, ignoring her and going straight for Allan. He backed into a corner, attempting several wizard-like gestures that had no apparent effect on the demon. A painting flew, passing harmlessly through the mass of shadow. Allan flung a couch, skidding it across the room; the humanoid shape of black flowed around it.
Kirsten’s eye popped open. She grinned. Allan’s screaming drowned out the clatter of debris as she stood; shouting that got louder when he noticed her moving. She stalked up behind the demon as it loomed over the old ghost. The soft soles of her boots muted her steps. As it began to draw Allan’s energy inward, Kirsten called the lash in mid-swing.
A scintillating strip of blue-white light extended from her hand, coiling about as she whipped her arm. The creature sensed the energy manifest, but could not turn in time to move. She tore the astral tendril through the manifestation. The strike felt as if she had slashed a mass of jelly with a sword. The familiar tension of impact tugged at her brain.
What had once been perfect black flared to bright crimson. The wraith-like shape became a bright roiling mass. Its polyphonic scream shattered windows and vases and knocked the rest of the artwork off the walls as an energy wave burst forth. It washed over Kirsten, causing her to shriek and fall to her knees. Shuddering, she wailed all the air from her lungs, paralyzed by burning pain. Her body cried without conscious thought at the overwhelming agony. The closer she was to the creature, the more it felt as if her flesh seared away.
“Thanks, Mom.” She snarled, and forced herself to stand through the pain.
An upswing of the lash stalled halfway through the creature’s mass, stuck. Kirsten howled and grabbed the tendril with both hands. Her eyes glowed with the intensity of two tiny holes into the center of a white star. The psionic weapon swelled in width, the expansion rode down the length into the abyssal’s form as she poured more energy into the attack.
Seconds later, it exploded.
Kirsten lay on the floor where the blast of hot demonic ichor left her. The lash flickered and went
He wheezed; fatigue laced with shocked agony.
Allan fared somewhat better, able to step back from the creature. The way he moved made her imagine a great wind trying to push him toward the manifestation. Unlike Dorian, he did not begin to unravel.
Kirsten jumped up, channeling her psionic energy at the dark spirit. A sense of its form spread through her mind as her abilities clashed with it. She held her hands out, pushing against the demon’s advance. Allan backed through the enormous foyer while she held it off. Inky smoke roiled as it fought off her influence; crimson eyes burned to bright orange. It stared at her.
“Mommy! Help!” Evan screamed from her earbud, sounding like a sudden voice-only call.
Kirsten expected a creature like this to play mind games. However, having it simulate his voice in a way that seemed more believable than being behind her caught her off guard. Her concentration lapsed at the alarm in the child’s voice, allowing the creature to slip forward. It lunged at her, plunging an icy hand into her chest, just at the base of the throat.
It pulled, dragging a ghostly image out of her. Living eyes rolled back into her head as her spectral form peeled loose. Ghost-Kirsten struggled against the hand around her throat as her body convulsed behind her. As the separation moved down past her ribs to her hips, she found the presence of mind to stop fighting physically. Desperation rode a wave of psionic energy, which hit the abyssal with tremendous force, blasting it apart into a diaphanous cloud.
Kirsten’s spirit snapped back into her body hard enough to launch her into the wall. White wainscoting crumbled around her as she bounced away and rolled into a heap of splinters and plaster dust.
“Kirsten!” Dorian shouted when she remained limp on the ground.
The abyssal glided into the room, ignoring her and going straight for Allan. He backed into a corner, attempting several wizard-like gestures that had no apparent effect on the demon. A painting flew, passing harmlessly through the mass of shadow. Allan flung a couch, skidding it across the room; the humanoid shape of black flowed around it.
Kirsten’s eye popped open. She grinned. Allan’s screaming drowned out the clatter of debris as she stood; shouting that got louder when he noticed her moving. She stalked up behind the demon as it loomed over the old ghost. The soft soles of her boots muted her steps. As it began to draw Allan’s energy inward, Kirsten called the lash in mid-swing.
A scintillating strip of blue-white light extended from her hand, coiling about as she whipped her arm. The creature sensed the energy manifest, but could not turn in time to move. She tore the astral tendril through the manifestation. The strike felt as if she had slashed a mass of jelly with a sword. The familiar tension of impact tugged at her brain.
What had once been perfect black flared to bright crimson. The wraith-like shape became a bright roiling mass. Its polyphonic scream shattered windows and vases and knocked the rest of the artwork off the walls as an energy wave burst forth. It washed over Kirsten, causing her to shriek and fall to her knees. Shuddering, she wailed all the air from her lungs, paralyzed by burning pain. Her body cried without conscious thought at the overwhelming agony. The closer she was to the creature, the more it felt as if her flesh seared away.
“Thanks, Mom.” She snarled, and forced herself to stand through the pain.
An upswing of the lash stalled halfway through the creature’s mass, stuck. Kirsten howled and grabbed the tendril with both hands. Her eyes glowed with the intensity of two tiny holes into the center of a white star. The psionic weapon swelled in width, the expansion rode down the length into the abyssal’s form as she poured more energy into the attack.
Seconds later, it exploded.
Kirsten lay on the floor where the blast of hot demonic ichor left her. The lash flickered and went
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