Even with Kurst wounded, the rookie was no match for the demon prince. “Get out of here,” Franks ordered, but his voice was so weak and broken that his order couldn’t be heard over the gunfire.

The rookie didn’t listen to him. Strayhorn was pulling something from one of his pouches, and he tossed it. The oval-shaped object hit the floor and slid toward Franks just as Kurst lunged for Strayhorn.

Franks crawled toward them. “Run!”

It was certain death, but the rookie kept shooting. Kurst moved through the bullets and raised one hand. The claws flashed like lightning, and Strayhorn was torn nearly in half.

“No . . .” Franks whispered.

Strayhorn lay there in a spreading pool of blood. Kurst stood over the mutilated body, claw dripping red. “Interesting . . . You cared about this one, didn’t you, Franks?”

The thing that Strayhorn had thrown at him had been a canteen. The plastic had bulged and the cap had burst off on impact, spilling glowing blue liquid.

Kurst licked his fingers. “This is the same blood from the riverside . . . You saved this one before. But why would any human matter to something like you?”

“They matter. We don’t.” He could barely speak. Franks reached the canteen and scooped it up with clumsy, broken hands. The canteen was still mostly full. “This world belongs to them. It was never ours to take.”

“You have followed the Creator’s lies for so long. Next will I have to listen to you preach about mercy and sacrifice?”

“I’ll never understand mercy.” This would most likely be fatal, but Franks had a mission to fulfill. He lifted the canteen and drank the whole thing. He poured ten doses’ worth of molten agony down his throat. Every artery and vein on Franks’ body began to glow. His skin made a sizzling noise like bacon hitting a hot pan. His hair began to smoke and singe. It hadn’t even really kicked in yet, and already the pain was incomprehensible. Franks spoke through grinding teeth, “But I do understand sacrifice.”

Kurst turned around, saw the empty canteen fall from Franks’ convulsing fingers. “Fool.” The demon prince shook his horned head. “You’d burn yourself to a crisp for nothing. You will never be pure enough for Him.”

The demon started toward him. There was nothing Franks could do about it. Every muscle in his body had contracted so tight that the tension was audible. Impurities burned off and bled through his pores as his bones turned molten. Nerve endings sent messages made of encoded pain, died, were born again to transmit even more suffering. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was beyond anything Franks had ever imagined.