A wet, naked, pink blob of mutating flesh hurled itself at Franks, but it was intercepted in a flash of steel and driven against the floor. One of the Swiss Guard had impaled it on the end of his halberd. Sometimes the old ways were still best. As that man pinned the screaming thing down, two of his comrades rushed up and shot the Nemesis demon to pieces with their Sig 556 rifles. There was a lot to be said in favor of modern hardware as well.

“That way. Move right! Move!” Agent Cueto was shouting over the continuous rattle of gunfire. He was trying to get his men out of the center of the room. That was smart. They had firearms. These moist things didn’t. Why sit in the open and slug it out? Except now that the concrete was covered in slippery slime, moving was easier said than done. Cueto’s boots came out from under him and he crashed on his side.

One demon, its body so young that most of its muscles hadn’t yet bonded to its bones, was crawling rapidly across the floor, dragging its legs behind it, heading straight for Cueto. Franks didn’t have a shot. “Behind you!”

The senior agent rolled over, trying to lift his rifle, but the demon had already reached him. A claw flashed and Cueto roared in pain as it sliced his leg wide open. He kicked out, and his combat boot tore the demon’s soft face off, but that barely slowed it. It began crawling up his legs, scratching at his armor, as Cueto tried to push it back.

“Hang on,” Gutterres rolled across a table and landed with a splash next to the demon. He shoved the muzzle of a 12-gauge against the side of the demon’s head and sprayed a ten-foot cone of pink brains. Cueto hurled the demon off of him. Gutterres got up, grabbed onto the drag strap on his armor and pulled him away. Even though blood was pouring from his leg, the Strike Team commander got his rifle up and kept on shooting.

The surviving demons were momentarily retreating for some reason. This was their chance to get to a better position. “Move!” Franks shouted as he walked backwards, firing controlled pairs at each momentary glimpse of slimy demon flesh. The men above them on the catwalk were shooting as well. There was a terrible crash. Franks looked up in time to see one of the Swiss Guard being tossed over the railing to crash headfirst through a diagnostic machine. His halberd landed, clattering across the debris at Franks’ feet.

A huge Nemesis soldier looked over the side to admire his handiwork. He was clothed, and appeared human, until he saw Franks and opened his mouth full of fangs to shout, “The traitor!”