‘Hector!’

As Hector mutters a prayer under his breath, a young boy’s voice hurls itself across the street. Straight and true as an arrow. Hector tries to raise himself on his elbows, but to no avail. Eaughshy doesn’t let him get that far. The demon’s head snaps to the side, splattering saliva across Hector’s cheek. Before he can scrub it off, a flash of blue light lunges across the distance, almost blinding him. He flings his arm up to shield his eyes, temporarily forgetting his pain. 

A dull slap resounds; a body hitting a wall. The indignant howl that follows rattles Hector’s eardrums. But he’s no longer looking at Eaughshy. A rush of footsteps draws his attention—an exclamation of shock. Through the bustling crowd outside of the alley, two figures burst forth. A few strangers glance at them, disgruntled. But that’s all. No one ever peers into the alleyways of Ourea.  

Hector laughs as their shadows fall over him. He wonders if he sounds as hysterical as he’s starting to feel.

In a single, swift movement, Alexandros Argyris kneels, taking in the extent of his brother’s injuries with a glance. His green eyes are bright with worry, blonde waves mussed. Hector dislikes how it manages to look deliberate and charming. Meanwhile, dark-haired, doe-eyed Eliav looks close to swooning. It had been his voice that Hector heard over the roar of traffic. 

‘It’s about time,’ Hector says—or he tries to say. He hacks up a wad of bloody phlegm before he can finish the last word. Alex frowns. 

‘Don’t move,’ he instructs. ‘We’ll finish up here.’

‘Are you going to be okay?’ Eliav asks. 

‘Well…’ Hector considers for a moment. ‘As okay I’ll ever be with a potentially broken rib.’

Alex snorts. ‘He’s fine.’

Broken glass crunches underfoot, somewhere to Hector’s right. A dragging sound. Alex stands slowly, and turns to face the demon with a half-smile. Cerulean energy crackles over Alex’s fingertips. He walks.

Magic. 

Hector can feel the way its static changes the very air around them. Blue light travels up Alex’s wrist, winding up the sleeve of his work shirt until it reaches his jaw. The smell of midnight thunderstorms fills the air. Tendrils like lightning kiss the skin there. Hector shivers.

Eaughshy makes a low rumbling sound, mouth opening and closing in a way that Alex and Hector can only read as nervously. Its double-jointed fingers twitch. Eliav’s breath hitches when he sees the demon properly for the first time. He stands a pace behind Alex, his forehead already slick with sweat. Electric-blue sparks light up his dusky skin, giving it an otherworldly glow.

With a sharp sound, Eliav claps his hands together. When they part, there’s a sphere of magic between them. Then, the sphere explodes into a large, dazzling display of multi-faceted jewels, each surface lit up from within. The pieces hang in the air for a beat before arranging themselves to form a containment barrier. They would stay in while the civilians stayed out. Hector breathes the magic in and thinks of ice deserts and clear waters. 

Alex moves first. 

He moves so fast, so sure, that Hector almost misses him when he blinks. All he hears is a scuff of soles on concrete and a breeze.

Suddenly he’s before Eaughshy, elbow back, fist raised. Eaughshy shields itself with its arms, but it’s too late, too slow. Alex’s punch lands hard on its still-open mouth. An audible crack echoes against the walls. Another snap. Teeth loosened from black gums.

Eaughshy stumbles back, hands grasping at its mouth. Blood flows through its fingers, staining its wrists and shirt. The deep black leaks into its jeans, painting the ground. Eaughshy tosses its head back and shrieks. Hector groans, pressing his ear against his shoulder as Eliav flinches back.

Alex only looks at his knuckles, frowning at the torn skin. 

It takes a moment for Eaughshy to gather itself, but when it does, it rushes at Alex — a whirlwind made of tooth and nail. Its snarl is an ugly threat. Arms and hands lash out to strike at Alex’s biceps. The blows connect, and Alex stumbles back, face contorting in pain. The demon dives forward, triumph writ in the set of its shoulders. 

It takes a moment for Eaughshy to gather itself, still stunned by the blow. But when it does, it rushes at Alex, still screeching through the blood. A whirlwind made of tooth and nail. Its snarl is an ugly threat. Arms lash out to strike at Alex’s biceps before he can move. The blows connect and Alex stumbles back, face contorting in pain. The demon dives forward once more, triumph writ in the set of its shoulders. 

Move, Alex. Hector thinks. Move!