I squeezed off another couple of shots, hoping to get the last hellhound while it was skidding and struggling in its doggy-pal’s blood, but I missed. Niloch’s men hesitated for a moment at the sound of the shot, but then hurried toward me once more, so I scrambled up and sprinted onward.

I caught a break I hadn’t expected when the commissar’s men tried to get the last hellhound moving again. Looking back, I saw that the ugly beast was refusing to budge, not because it was afraid of me (stop, don’t make me laugh) but because it was so busy licking up the blood and brain fragments spilled by the one I’d shot. When one of the handlers tried to urge it forward with a whip, the hound turned on him, snapping at his face with that toothy snout and pulling off what looked like a good chunk of his nose and cheek.

I managed to reload both guns as I hurried on, knowing that the respite was going to be a short one; I could hear Niloch screeching to shoot the dog if it wouldn’t get moving again. Unfortunately, I fumbled the rest of the bullets, then missed my grab as they bounced into the abyss. The commissar might have only one hound left, but he had about half a hundred armed followers against my total of twelve bullets.

Running as hard as I could, drawing on reserves of demonic strength that were probably well outside the body’s normal factory specs, I managed to put a little distance between myself and the stalled hunters. Hearing Niloch’s angry shrieks getting fainter was the sweetest music I’d heard in a long time.