Walker launches himself out of the rubble, and it almost looks as if he's flying when really he's just soaring, and growls at the beast, a puff of fire escaping his mouth. The demon speaks, he talks a strange language, one of harsh continents that grates against Emory's eardrums.
Then he slashes at Walker's chest, blood splattering across the air and slapping against the cement floor. Walker snarls in pain but heaves himself back up from where he tried to get away. Walker doesn't stop. With speed Emory has never seen, he dodges in and out, striking the demon across its thick hide skin.
Just when Emory thinks Walker has the upper hand, the demon snatches him by the neck. There's a faint crack and Walker screams, a devastating bellow that will haunt Emory in her nightmares.
A leather booted foot rams into the demons side, sending it and Walker flying and crashing into a wall. Like with Walker, it collapses, cement chippings piling onto them. A man stands in place of where the demon once was. His broad shoulders fill out his white long sleeved shirt, his collar folded and neat. The straps for his sword and sheath on his back clinging to thick muscle. Honey blond hair curls around his ear, his jaw sharp as it clenches. That's all Emory can see of him as he faces away from her.
There's a soft sound, and her gaze trails down his defined arms to see gold cufflinks around his wrists, his pale hands curled into fists so tight Emory can hear the way his calloused skin rubs against each other.
Surely that must hurt?
The rubble that had fallen onto the demon starts to shake as the beast beneath it starts to get up.
The man unsheathes the sword and takes on a stance to maintain his mobility and balance, his legs spread apart and bent slightly at the knee. "Grab your friend and go upstairs." He finally cuts a look at her, and all the air in her lungs rush out.
Holy shit, he's basically sex on legs.
His mouth is lush and pouty, his bottom lip just a little bigger than his top, with a dip in the middle. His nose is straight and sharp, nostrils flaring. But his eyes, deep forest green, sees right into her soul. It's like she can't look away from him. "Do not run. I have questions."
And just as quickly as those feelings came, they're gone. Where the hell did he even come from?
She shakes her head, run now, she'll ask her questions later.
When Emory hurries to her feet, she slips and falls in the thick puddle of blood that has gathered beneath her. The broken cement falls away as the demon stands to his full height.
Her body kicks into overdrive, and she jumps up, slipping and sliding her way through blood to a hopefully alive and breathing Walker. Emory slips forward and catches herself on her hands, elbows bending as she pushes herself back up just as fast.
She comes to a skidding hault beside Walker as the sound of battle ensues behind her. His shirt is torn open in three slashes across his torso, the wounds deep and gushing.
That's when Emory sees it. The dark, grimy sludge that wiggles on the ground. It heads for Walker, towards his open wound, the one closest to his chest.
What the hell is that?
Frantic and disgusted at the unseemly sight, Emory attempts to scoop it up and toss it away, and think about whatever the fuck it is later, but her fingers slide right through it, the slime feeling like water against her pale skin. Her hand comes clear of it, dripping a black slime.
"What the fuck?" She whimpers in horror. The left over ick on her fingers starts to slide down, and she can feel it crawling against her. Her eyes flick over to the goo as it reaches the edge of Walkers stomach. A sound of desperation escapes her and she scoops and scrapes at it, trying to get it away from Walker but it's like she's not there at all. Her fingers keep sliding through. When Emory tries to scoop it, she passes through it like a wet ghost. Only it's not as dirty as it sounds. By far, in fact.
Emory watches with horror as it slips into the lowest gash on Walkers chest. It seeps into him, mixing with his blood, his muscle tissue, and then disappears like it never existed.
"No, no, no," She hisses, hands shaking. "What the fuck?" Her fingers claw at the air, and if she ever makes it out to look back at this, she will bet she looks like a wicked witch stereotype. Emory wants to dig into him, to draw it out but she fears hurting him, or making the situation worse.
"Any time now would be great!" The man shouts at her. Emory looks at him from over her shoulder to see him straining, literally and figuratively, against the demon. His sword is held up above his head, barely blocking major claws from ripping his head off.
"What do I do?" She groans, tears flooding her eyes as she turns back to look down at Walker. When nothing immediate happens, when he doesn't scream in agony or stop breathing she sighs in relief.
Only it's a moment too soon.
Emory is about to grab Walkers arms to drag him up the steps - she would have tried a levitation spell, but seeing as they're in a life or death situation, she thinks she would have fucked it up - when Walker arches off of the floor, his limbs cracking as his neck strains that Emory fears it might break.
It's like he's seizing, but it looks more like his limbs want to rip off from where they attach to his body.
A large crash draws Emory's attention towards the fight, the man has rammed one of his hands into the demons chest, the other crushing the demons neck.