Free Ruptured: The Cantati Chronicles by Maggie Mae Gallagher

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Chapter Eight
    After a brief stop by Quinten’s second-floor room, we scurried out of the Compound. He provided me with a hat in an attempt to shield my face from any guards. It worked. Cantati Forces hurried across the Tower Green, ferrying dispatches from the front, uncaring of other soldiers heading to the front lines in the massive attack.
    The majority were heading toward the eastern gate. The ground shook from explosions and the distant din of gunfire. Armed to the teeth, with guards more concerned about not letting the enemy breach our defenses, Quinten and I sneaked out through the western gate unmolested.
    The silence on the streets was deafening by comparison. Quinten and I moved wordlessly together. Years of training had honed our ability to work seamlessly. We ran in tandem, with Quinten on point.
    We covered ground quickly, traveling in the direction of gunshots. Sounds of battle increased with every block we passed. A mile from the wall, we crossed over the threshold of hell. Cade’s platoon and at least half of mine were engaged in ferocious combat.
    I didn’t spy my majors. Ben, Nick, and Luke were not part of the melee that I could see. Relief washed through me. I prayed they had been assigned to the Compound with my absence.
    Entering the battle, Quinten and I worked together, forming a shield, using the other to protect our backs. My sensors were on high alert.
    Three Feronte demons bent on ripping me to shreds crashed through a broken line of defense to reach me. With heads shaped like dragons, they had retractable claws on each of their forearms, but their fireballs were the most deadly. They could shoot those suckers up to twenty-five feet and had near-perfect aim. My blade slashed, and I flayed the first two demons into pieces.
    Screeching, the remaining Feronte growled.
    I blocked its heavy, clawed fists. Then I danced precipitously out of arm’s reach when two more Ferontes emerged from the hoopla. How many more were there? The number of demons were staggering. My demon-detecting powers were on overdrive, flooded by their energy. I had to block it, shore up my psychic shields, otherwise this many would undermine my ability to defend myself and anyone else.
    Quinten had engaged with a group of Hatha, careful of their six-inch retractable claws. Those suckers hurt like hell when they gouged flesh and carried a venom that, if left untreated, wreaked havoc on the human body.
    I ducked and swiveled, arcing my blade against a Feronte’s throat.
    Two Efrits joined the fight. I hated Efrits. I dropped my blade, switching to my Glock .45. Big bastards like these needed big bullets. My finger relaxed against the trigger.
    The Efrits’ bodies coiled, milliseconds from action. My finger depressed the trigger. I emptied a clip into those two. Damn near cut one in half. I dodged a fire blast from another Feronte, dived and rolled, reloading my handgun with a full clip. Gravel skinned my knees. On my side, I aimed, squeezed the trigger. The Feronte crashed to the ground.
    I heard a Toth’s heavy footfalls as it charged. Its three heads shaped like a velociraptor’s, and on each head they had a mouth filled with wickedly long fangs. Damn thing openly hissing as it stalked me. These suckers were massive barrel chested brutes. In seconds I had the Glock back in its holster and swiveled my focus. Back on my feet, I whipped the blade in an arc, sliced it through bone and sinew removing all three heads before they could sample my flesh. Sounds of the battle seared my ears. I couldn’t tell who was winning, us or them. Best we could do was keep demons from each other’s backs. Any demon foolish enough to charge Quinten or me was crow fodder.
    A machine built for killing, I hacked and slashed at every tentacle, claw, and tusk. Body parts littered the ground. Blood ran in rivulets and stained the street. And through it all, I listened to the sounds of battle around me.
    Mammoth hands snatched me from behind,