Wyrm Fire
Dante’s Inferno was nothing compared to this. I rushed in through the front door, yes through, splintering it. The smoke engulfed me, and the heat was beginning to sear the hair off of my flesh.
A cry from upstairs lead me to my prey. The smell was thankfully muffled by the burning hell around me as I leapt up to the first landing. It was still solid. I sprung up to the second floor hallway, landing crouched on all fours. Glancing down the corridor to my left, I noticed a telltale shifting blackness. The blade was in my palm before I actually thought about it. The pincers were the first thing to emerge from the inky hole. Hairy and dripping with something that reeked of acid, I winced at what that was going to do to my claws. But hey, someone’s got to put these filthy bastards in their place.
There was movement behind me as well, and my mind splintered into a tactical array with one lingering question in the offing. Why the hell were reinforcements showing up? I dove into a roll and came up on my haunches in a doorway about half the distance to the portal that was birthing these filthy fuckers. Timed it well without even trying. A jet of flame as thick as my thigh went whooshing down the hallway.
The pincered nightmare burst into flame and reeled backward, chittering and screeching with delighted anguish. Lovely. I could make out a few of its brothers alight with fire as their transportation spiraled shut on them with a whispering crunch.
My head whipped around so fast I thought it might spin off, but I wasn’t keen on being cooked. I was just quick enough to stop my reflexive leap toward the fire-thrower. My jaw swung open at the sight.
There was a boy, no more than eleven, fingers pointed out in front of him in the shape of a gun. And I shit you not on this part, his finger, the one representing the barrel, was smoking! He turned to me and smiled, and that face made my nut shrivel like nothing ever has.