He yanked it from the wall, a clump of masonry still fixed to the end as he whipped it at the door. The chain passed between the bars, the links wrapping around each other in a knot before he pulled them tight, locking the door before anyone had chance to open it. She was trapped with the demon as he choked the life from her.
Pain exploded in her head as fingers crushed her windpipe, her lungs screaming for air. She dug fingers into his hand, clawed at his face and kicked as hard as she could but couldn’t shake the vice like grip around her throat.
“It will be over soon, princess,” whispered the demon, his breath hot against her face, barely heard above the crashing of the door as the men struggled to break in - her name being screamed by Bray and Nat.
The sounds seemed to drift far away as her vision dimmed to nothing, even the pain dissolved, replaced by the dizzy sensation of floating - of falling.
A blackness, all consuming, sank into her flesh, her mind, a darkness writhing with haunting whispers, repeating her name over and over. Elora...Elora. They faded with her beating heart.
Then nothing.
Chapter 17
The Right Thing
Bray screamed her name as he thrashed at the iron chain links that held fast against the door. He watched through the bars in horror as the demon released his grip from Elora’s throat and let her limp body fall; arms lifeless and unable to prevent her head smacking against the stone ground.
“Elora!” he screamed again - please don’t let her be dead. But her violet eyes stared at him, lifeless and unseeing from the floor. She took no breath.
He was suddenly wrenched away from the door by Ragna as he slammed his war hammer against the old wood. It splintered and broke apart on the second strike, smashing to pieces; fragments still hitting the floor as they rushed in. Bray went to Elora, leaving the demon to Diagus and the Viking.
She had no pulse, no heartbeat and no breath. Tears blurred his vision as he pushed Elora’s body onto her back and placed his hands above her heart. Nathanial cradled Elora’s head in his lap as Bray began the compressions.
“Get air into her lungs,” he shouted at him. Nathanial nodded and began to mumble under his breath. Bray didn’t know what he was doing and was about to repeat his request when he felt Elora’s chest begin to rise, then fall. Whatever the old man was doing, it was making her body breath.
Peaceful, was what Bray was thinking as he massaged her heart, her face looked peaceful; no more than asleep as if she would wake at any moment. Reality was too hard to bear, but he couldn’t think she was dead.
“Wake up Elora. Don’t be dead,” he whispered, realising that the tears that he was shedding were the first to fall from his eyes since he was an infant, dumped on the steps of a church to the Blessed Mother. But that was in another time, another world.
He spared a glance to the demon. It was on its knees, driven there by Ragna’s hammer, its head bent low and the Shadojak’s sword held to its neck. Bray felt a hatred for that creature, the emotion running so deep it caused his hands to shake. No, his hands were shaking from sudden movements from Elora’s heart, strong and rapid beats.
He stopped the compressions and put his ear to her chest. Thump, thump, the rhythm was erratic, but her heart was beating. Elora was alive.
“Elora?” he said, taking her hand in his, searching her face for signs of waking.
Her eyes moved rapidly beneath closed lids as if dreaming, her mouth parted, a deep moan escaping through pale lips. “Elora?”
Suddenly the hand Bray was holding flexed, her grip squeezing blood from his fingers and turning them white as they clicked with the pressure. The pain was excruciating yet he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face, she was alive.
Her eyelids flashed open, Elora stared at him through crimson irises and increased the pressure on his hand, her mouth twisting into an animal snarl.
Fingers cracked as she broke bone and cartilage, raising her head in an attempt to bite her uncle. Luckily Nathanial pulled back at the last moment and avoided his nose being chewed off.
Ignoring the pain in his crushed hand- it would heal- Bray attempted to reach her. “Elora. Calm down, you’re safe.” Her deep red eyes cast back on him, followed by her fist.
Bray was vaguely aware he had been hit. He was punch-drunk, the room spinning as he rolled onto his back and shuffled against a wall, struggling into a sitting position.
His skull throbbed with pain and when he delicately touched his temple he felt the bone beneath crunch and flex where it had been fractured. His broken hand pulsed in agony; loud clicks and pops vibrating up his arm when he foolishly attempted to move his fingers.
As the blurred image of the cell began to refocus he caught the rapid movements of a fight. Diagus was pushing himself up from the floor, a stream of blood leaking from his nose, his good eye swollen shut and Elora standing above him, ready to slam her foot down on his spine.
“No!” screamed Ragna, swinging the Fist of the North over his head, the great war hammer arcing down on her.
Bray attempted to shout but his jaw felt wrong, as if that was broken too, and all he managed was a garbled groan. Yet she didn’t need the warning as he watched her spin towards the Viking, Diagus forgotten and caught the head of the falling hammer in one hand.
Steam spiralled between her fingers as they sank into the steel as if it was butter. Ragna’s face had only time to go slack with shock as Elora stepped to the side, grasping him around the arm and flung him into the wall. His broken body fell in a heap, the impact knocking him unconscious.
“Elora, what are you doing girl?” croaked Nathaniel, shuffling towards her with a hand held out before him.
Red eyes turned to him, full of hate, brimming with anger.
“Elora, please. These are friends you’re killing.” But his words fell on deaf ears. It was clear to Bray that she didn’t know any of them and only had a mind for violence.
Elora crouched low, teeth bared, growling like a wild cat, ready to pounce on her uncle. Bray couldn’t let it happen.
His uninjured hand found purchase in the masonry and he pulled himself up, supporting his body on unsteady legs as the room swayed - or was that him? He shook the dizziness from his head, took two stumbling steps and dived against Nathaniel’s legs; bringing him down as his niece sprung into the air, hands slashing where his neck would have been.
Screaming in anger as she deftly landed, Elora jumped against the wall and pushed herself off again, turning her body in mid-air and coming at them with the ferocity of a tigress. Bray could do no more than shield the old man with his body. Bracing himself for the attack. But instead of feeling nails and teeth, Elora fell passed them, slamming into the floor and rolling against the wall.
She hissed in pain as Diagus stepped towards her and laid the flat of his blade against her neck. The hiss turned to a scream before she collapsed to all fours, panting to the point of hyperventilating.
“Calm yourself, girl. Less I take your head,” Diagus said, calmly.
Elora sat down heavily and curled her knees up against her chest. “What happened,” she said, between breaths. Her eyes returning to violet, wide and staring around her.
“You died, Elora,” said the demon, from the corner of the cell, where he had been hiding as the fight broke out. “I killed you and the darkness brought you back. You’ve been awakened. Now you are the Princess of Chaos, Queen of Darkness. My queen.” He dropped to one knee and lowered his head. “I, Zionbuss, feared demon of the Shadowlands, Captain of the Necrolosis, give you my name, I am your servant. Your will is my command.”
Diagus stepped away from Elora, seeing that the threat had passed from the girl and now placed his blade above the demon.
