My unit crept through Holly's bombarded gate with our eyes peeled and our blades unsheathed. Hungry for a fight, eager to avenge the fallen.

Within the silent city, debris smoldered in hellish, crimson flame, and wagons and food carts lay strewn about the streets, abandoned by fleeing merchants. Windows had been shattered, bloodstains spattering the wooden sills and open doorways as if citizens had been dragged ruthlessly from their homes.

From the east, clashing metal and terrorized screams echoed down streets—the only proof of life in this barren wasteland.

After weaving through backstreets to avoid any demon scouts, our team arrived at the business sector, where a dark beam of shadows spewed out of the ground.

A geyser of death.

A sister portal.

And at the base of the gateway lay a dozen human bodies, the corpses arranged in a familiar geometric pattern, their veins pulsing with red light as the vortex ejected fresh demons into the atmosphere.

The smell had me breathing through my mouth.

My gaze trailed up the length of portal to a sky of raging thunderclouds and crimson lightning. Thankfully, there were fewer Pots this time around. Unlike the cloud of dark forces at Yellow Valley, these demons formed a flock of vultures overhead, circling above a handful of black-blooded soldiers, waiting their turn.

Like fish in a pond, Sol had said.

In the middle of the courtyard, about fifty civilians knelt on the ground in rows, heads stooped and shaking in fear—like animals herded toward a fate much worse than slaughter.

A Pan appeared from an alleyway, hauling another victim behind him and tossing her to the pavement with the others. The young woman's dress was torn in a way that suggested she'd been moving through narrow spaces and climbing fences. Black blood spattered her hands and cheeks, as if she'd tried to fight off her assailant. As if she'd nearly succeeded.

My stomach sank, and I looked over the hostages again.

These individuals were not merely the last to be found in Sterling's purge. They'd managed to stay alive for over 24 hours in a city overrun with demons. They were survivors.

And now, the Pans were pooling together the strongest candidates for their army.

"Good thinking, Alex," Claus whispered, pulling me back to the mission at hand. We ducked behind the water tower, and he crouched to remove the pipe bombs from his pack. "I love fireworks."

"Wait.  This was your idea?" gasped Mason, bending down to help Claus with the tape.

"Mostly. Fudge came up with the mechanics.  Why?"

He paused to look at me.  "In case you haven't noticed, you have a talent for getting yourself into horrible situations."

"And in case you haven't noticed, I'm still kicking."

Claus quickly attached the bombs to the third leg of the tower, his chubby fingers shockingly dexterous, his mind sharp and focused on the task at hand. Rover hadn't been kidding when he called the guy a specialist; Claus was a professional in the world of incendiary munition. He thrived at this sport.

"Are you sure this is even going to work?" Mason grumbled.

"No," I admitted, nodding at Claus for the all-clear. 

The man shot us a devious grin as he lit a match.  "Yee of little faith."

We moved the instant the wicks ignited, slinking behind the wall of an abandoned building and peering around the corner to watch the spectacle unfold.

Claus put his fingers up.             

3.                         

2.

1.

The bomb rattled the pavement, and the water tower groaned and swayed above us. If the structure fell to the right, it would crash onto the building roof and flood the complex, not the street. In that horrifying scenario, we'd have given our position away, and we'd be the Pots' next human meal.

"Come on," I murmured. "Come on..."

Slowly, the tower teetered to the left, and I grinned. 

That's it.                                    

Just as we'd planned, the giant storage tank came crashing to the ground, the impact bursting the steel open and sending thousands of gallons of water flowing into cobblestone riverbeds.

In its path of destruction, the wave swept up the human transmutation circle, instantly killing the portal lights and enraging its keepers. But before the Pans could turn on us, the flood knocked them down like shooting targets and washed them away. Meanwhile, civilians were sent flailing in all directions, passengers to the torrent.

Claus hooted in triumph, and I slapped Mason's hand even though he hadn't offered me a high-five.

The portal was down. We'd leveled the playing field.

Now a fair fight could commence.

It didn't take long for the sodden Pans to rise to their feet again, and the commotion had drawn in another two dozen demons from the streets. Just like we'd been banking on.

Like tears of Olympic gods, vanadium arrows rained down from the sky, impaling the clustered demons and turning them to ashtrays. Siren single-handedly killed eight Pans in the time it took to slide down the roof shingles, and I felt like applauding.

Her followers moved lithely across burning rooftops—hunters and misfits and assassins.  I watched several women flip off of buildings with their bows in hand, cloaks rippling like flags, hair streaming behind them, and I grinned, committing the image to memory.

As Mason and Claus ran for combat, I rushed for the civilians cowering in the shadows. 

This time, I would not abandon my people.