He couldn’t hear Myers’ response through the static. It would have to do. He leaned around the corner, shot another cultist in the mouth, and put his last round through another man’s heart. Franks dropped the empty gun and was moving as they fired uselessly through the sheet metal. Franks was huge by human standards, but he moved faster than almost any mortal on Earth. He cleared the edge of the wheelhouse, caught a cultist from behind, snapped his neck, shoved the paralyzed man into the next so that he fired his shotgun uselessly into the air. Franks punched that one in the face, breaking nose, jaw, and several teeth, took his shotgun away, and hurled them both over the side. He spun the shotgun around, shouldered it, pumped a round into the chamber, and blew half of another cultist’s head off. He aimed at another, but could tell by the feel as he worked the Remington’s action that the weapon was empty, most of its rounds already having been fired at him. Franks dropped the shotgun and ducked as the rest of the ship began shooting at him again.

Looking back, Franks realized that the demon was so scared of being captured by him that it was actually gnawing through its own arm in an attempt to escape. Franks moved quickly. He found a long pole with a hook on the end and used that to reach up and shove one of the spotlights out of alignment, temporarily blinding the cultists shooting at him. Then he speared an old man through the guts with the pole, clotheslined another cultist hard enough to kill him instantly, and got back to his prisoner just as the demon finished chewing its arm off.

It began scrambling away, but he easily caught it. “You can’t do this, Franks! You’re a traitor to the host. You’ll pay for this!” it shrieked as he dragged it back to where he pinned it the first time.

The demon scratched and bit at him, annoying Franks. When he reached the ceremonial dagger, he tugged it from the wood. The severed claw slid off the end of the steel. He forced the demon’s head against the deck and stabbed it through the face, pinning it just as hard as before. It squealed and thrashed, but at least it couldn’t talk anymore. The stupid imp wouldn’t be chewing its way out of that.