Clement grit his teeth and clenched his fist. He would just have to do this the old-fashioned way.
“Ah, finally ready?” the devil asked.
Clement didn’t get a chance to respond.
The devil’s outfit burst into flames. They cleared away just as quickly as they had come, leaving him baring his muscles for all the students to see.
Great black wings sprouted from his back. Feathered, rather than the bat-like wings most demons possessed. From his waist down, he was covered in a leathery fur that ended in heavy hooves. Fire and smoke sprouted from where the hooves touched the ground. Horns curled off his head—one of them a crumpled horn—each looking more evil every time Clement’s eyes passed over them.
Reaching behind his back, Clement curled his fingers around the emerald-studded hilt of his sword. He drew it without flourish or elegance. Every movement he made was purely utilitarian.
The devil’s golden eyes went wide. For just a bare moment, his smile disappeared as his mouth twisted to the shape of a ring.
“A Persian sword. Not many would use such a thing these days, though I suppose that there is no weapon more fitting for fighting demons. Not the original Zomorrodnegār. If you’ll forgive me for acting out of turn…”
The devil snapped forward with a burst of flames at his back, crossing half the distance between them in the blink of an eye.
Clement raised his sword, both hands gripping the hilt to better defend against powerful attacks.
But the devil didn’t continue on. He stopped moving five feet away.
The flames didn’t stop with him. They curled around the devil’s body, continuing forwards and wrapping around Clement. There was a mild heat accompanying the flames. Nothing that would be dangerous.
He stood his ground. Something that was becoming increasingly difficult as the bricks under his boots became brittle and cracked away under the heat. But he couldn’t afford to move. This was a test of some sort. Through his visor’s enchantments, he could see that the devil hadn’t moved after launching the flames.
There was a sensation in Clement’s gut that if he moved, he would lose his head.
After a moment of the flames wrapping around him, they dispersed into mere embers.
The devil was hazy. Heat waves trailed up from the glowing red bricks, distorting everything around Clement. Even some parts of his armor had a faint red glow to them.
“Yes,” the devil said, “definitely not the original. The original would have eaten those flames.”
With a shrug of the devil’s shoulders, the plaza returned to normal. The heat haze vanished as the bricks lost their glow.
The bricks that had cracked beneath Clement’s feet stayed glowing and cracked. The tips of his armor retained their red-hot temperature as well.
Already bright gold, the devil’s eyes lit up with a maddened delirium as he burst into laughter. “Excellent,” he said. “Marvelous! What is your name?”
Clement hesitated. He was not a mage. Nor had he much training apart from what to expect from demons and any other entities that Gertrude thought he should know about. He had heard that names had power. Where he had heard it, he couldn’t say. Books, perhaps. Fiction.
Except it was so difficult to tell what was fiction and what was a mage writing about personal experiences under the guise of fiction.
Never before had a demon asked his name. He had never had cause to ask Gertrude about names.
Then again, he didn’t use his real name. ‘Clement’ was a moniker given to him by Gertrude.
“Come now,” the devil said as he tapped a foot against the brick plaza. “We don’t have all night. I’m sure I have to go hunt down your girlfriend before morning.”
“Clement,” he said through grit teeth. Readying his sword, he shifted forwards.
This devil couldn’t be allowed to chase after Gertrude.
“Clement huh? I’ll remember that. For at least a day. You may call me Zagan, Great King of Hell.”
Clement didn’t acknowledge the devil. He charged forwards using his toes to activate the enchantments in his boots, and slashed down at the devil.
Zagan was, predictably, not in the path of his blade by the time it passed through the air.
Rather than follow through with a second slash or chase after him, Clement pulled back and brought one arm up to his eyeline.
Zagan’s open hand caught the gauntlet’s wrist. He started to twist Clement’s arm, eliciting a light groan from the armor as the metal protested the movement.
Bringing his sword around with his free hand was enough to send Zagan hopping backwards a few steps. Clement tried to hit him with the closed fist of his released hand, but struck nothing but air.
Before marching up to Brakket Academy, Clement had removed the fingers of his armor on his left hand. On one of those fingers, he wore the ring that Gertrude had given him.
So long as Zagan didn’t notice it, all he had to do was slip in a punch while the devil was distracted by the sword. At least, as long as Gertrude was right in her assumption that it would work. Clement had never known her to be wrong about much of anything.
