Nefron had also drawn his sword.
It would only take a few seconds for Nefron to realize that the centurion was in no danger. Then he would protect his back with drawn sword. It was thin protection but there was no choice.
Solis turned to face the demonic prince at the front of the tent. He trembled just a bit when he saw that the mighty demon did not draw his sword but stood with his arms crossed upon his massive chest and laughed at him. Solis didn’t wait. He attacked.
His attack was swift but not swift enough.
He had lost precious seconds trying to give Onkelos his opportunity to escape. His moment of hesitation doomed him. The demonic prince did not even move as Solis sprang at him with drawn sword.
They came at him from all sides in a black wave of snapping, biting, and spitting warriors. He was simply smothered in the overwhelming embrace of tens and hundreds of demons who swarmed over him in an instant. None of them had drawn their swords.
They wanted him alive.
He was dragged from the ground where he had been thrown and held securely by two mighty spirits. His sword lay dull and lifeless on the ground and he glanced longingly in that direction.
A quick look behind him showed Nefron fighting a fierce retreating battle, working his way out of the tent and into the darkness outside. Suddenly, Melanchor charged into the fray like a bolt of lightning and began to cut a wide swath with his great sword.
“To me,” he bellowed, “form up on my position.”
Other angelic warriors were entering the battle outside but theywere terribly outnumbered. Melanchor took advantage of a break in the fighting to grab his trumpet and blow a mighty blast to call the retreat.
Solis twisted his head back and for a brief moment their eyes met, bleak and full of grief. Then it was over, the angelic warriors leaving nothing but the flickering firelight of angel dust in their wake.
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Footnotes and references included in original manuscript.