Singed - My demon

So, let's recap. It was winter. It was freezing. It was raining.

But since I was standing near a house being consumed by fire, I barely felt the cold. The inferno raged behind my back, the heat curling against my skin despite the downpour. That same downpour should have been helping to douse the flames, but no—because the universe was a bastard—it was like the fire had decided it didn't care about physics tonight.

Behind me, a family was still trapped in the only intact part of the building. If the flames didn't get to them, the smoke would.

About ten meters away? A monster. A nightmare in the shape of a massive, pissed-off hound, dark as oil and seething with pure malice.

Standing between me and it was the well-dressed bastard who, until moments ago, had a pair of leathery wings that would've made Batman himself jealous.

My brain, still trying to process just how deep into "this is so far above my unpaid grade" territory I had landed, nearly supplied the classic "Well, at least it can't get any worse." But wisdom prevailed. The last thing I needed was to tempt fate when I was already neck-deep in astral sewage.

The man moved, his long spear twirling like it was an extension of his body. He barely even looked at me when he barked, «Move!»

Move? Where? How?

Not that it mattered. The creature wasn't waiting for an invitation. This wasn't a movie or an anime where the villain politely waits for the cool character's screen time before trying to rip them to pieces—it just went for the kill. Since Mr. Tall, Dark, and Armed had planted himself before me when they collided, I finally learned what it felt like to be a bowling pin on league night.

Even though he managed to block the full brunt of the charge, the sheer momentum sent him reeling backwards. I had barely begun to react, my body still dragging itself out of the paralysis that had rooted me in place moments ago. I managed half a step sideways, maybe two, but it wasn't nearly fast enough.

His right side slammed into me, the impact knocking me off balance like I had just been hit by a wrecking ball dressed in a very expensive coat. My feet skidded on the wet, unstable ground, and for a moment, the world blurred as I staggered, trying desperately not to face-plant into the mud.

I barely caught myself against the wall, fingers scraping against soot-streaked plaster.

That hurt.

Like. A lot.

And worse? I had just messed up his footing.

The beast snarled, its gaping maw snapping inches from the stranger's face. Its jaws clamped down violently, the only thing keeping it from biting his head clean off was the length of his spear, now wedged diagonally between its slavering teeth. Umber saliva dripped from the creature's fangs as it struggled to force its way closer.

With a grunt, his arms tensed, muscles straining against the force of the abomination. He had lost precious ground thanks to my slothness, and now his entire upper body was locked in a fight to keep his own head attached.

Power surged through him—a red mist, dark and crackling with thin streaks of electricity, gathered along the spear's shaft before exploding outward. With the glow illuminating his form, I noticed it—the source. A necklace resting against his collarbone, its chain some metal I couldn't identify—silver, platinum? The setting intricate, holding a gem that pulsed like embers, deep orange and alive with energy.

The shockwave slammed into the beast, ripping through its body and hurling it backwards. It crashed into the shed doors with enough force to blow them off their hinges, the sound of wood splintering and metal warping ringing through the night.

A heavy, wet thud followed as the monster smashed into whatever had been inside, the rattling of tools and broken crates punctuating its forced landing.

My body finally listened. I staggered several steps away, my breath coming fast, my pulse roaring in my ears.

The screams from inside the house had weakened. Time was running out.

I still didn't know who the hell this man was or why he had thrown himself between me and the oil-dripping hellhound. But then, as he turned—his arm extending, palm raised toward the house—I saw a glow.

The tips of his fingers lit up, a faint scarlet shimmer dancing along them as the necklace resumed its pulse. The window answered in kind, and understanding clicked into place.

Whatever he was—whoever he was—he was trying to get those people out, too. And that meant, at least, we were on the same side for now.

That was the moment. The moment to bolt at light speed, to find my dog, leave the countryside behind, lock myself in my room for the rest of my life, and finally call the therapist I had refused to contact through all my years of depression. Because this time, I needed it. On the way back, I'd make sure emergency services were coming—assuming my mother hadn't already called them in a panic and wasn't already on her way here.

...Shit. SHIT. I hadn't even thought about that!

My stomach twisted into a tighter knot. The idea of my mother showing up here—walking straight into this nightmare, getting eaten alive by that thing just to make sure I wasn't dead—made me want to hurl.

And just as that horrifying thought took root, the sound of crashing metal, wood, and scattering objects came from the shed.