Light streamed in broken patches through the canopy above, punctuating the perpetual woodland twilight. Undergrowth crackled and voices called out. Corban could make out a group of people staggering through the trees towards him – twenty, thirty people, maybe more. Behind them shapes moved. Fast. A woman hugging a child to her chest ran stumbling into the undergrowth. Something rose from the ground behind her, blood dripping from its chin.

Kadoshim.

Corban felt a shiver of fear course through him, somewhere along the way transforming into a white-hot rage. He heard a giant bellowing in its guttural language, then he was yelling his own battle-cry, running at it, swinging his sword. Two dozen strides and he was almost upon it. His mind flickered to his last encounter with a Kadoshim; this time his rage didn’t blind him, instead he focused it, the world evaporating away, leaving only the pale, black-veined creature before him. He feinted high with his sword, shifted his weight and twisted his wrist, swinging suddenly low, putting his hips into it, the weight and strength of his back and shoulder. His wolven claws caught the Kadoshim’s blade as it swept high to block a blow that didn’t land, Corban’s sword hacking into the creature’s leg, just above the boot. There was a meaty slap, Corban’s blade shearing almost clear through the leg, lodging in bone, then his momentum was carrying him past the Kadoshim, one of its hands reaching out, snatching at his cloak. He staggered away with the Kadoshim lunging after him, swung his wolven claws, cutting into a hand. Severed fingers fell away and he was free, the creature stumbling as its injured leg betrayed it.

There was snarling and then Storm smashed into it, teeth ripping at its throat, hurling it to the ground. Corban yelled a command, fearful as he remembered the injuries she’d sustained from her last encounter with the Kadoshim. Reluctantly she released her grip and backed away, snarling at the fallen enemy as it scrabbled on the ground, pushing itself upright, Corban’s sword still lodged in its leg.

Then the Jehar were there: Akar first, others close behind, Gar amongst them, swirling about the injured Kadoshim, their swords gleaming as they sliced and cut. The Kadoshim’s sword was a blur as it blocked a dozen blows, snaking out and drawing blood. A Jehar warrior staggered back, gurgling as blood jetted from his throat, but no one could defend against a sustained attack from half a dozen Jehar at once, not even a demon from the Otherworld. Corban saw a severed hand spinning through the air, thick black blood trailing it, the Kadoshim still struggling forwards, grabbing at those around it, its face twisted with hatred.

Abruptly it was over; there was an explosion of shadow above the Kadoshim, the demon’s winged spirit emptying from its headless host, a frustrated screech and then it was gone, evaporating into the morning air.