Peniel

[Patricus I]

His heart beat faster than his eyes could track the demon creatures. One dipped so low that he ducked on instinct, and the wind of its wings knocked the hat from Philip’s head. The pilot’s gun fired so loud, Philip threw his hands over his ears. He didn’t know what to do. Armande and the dark-haired woman attacked. Even the American woman found a dead branch to defend herself. He had nothing! Nothing but his own two hands and feeble faith, but neither was he going to sit and wait for evil to satiate itself. I am not a warrior pope!

The pilot fired the gun a second time, but a scream followed. Philip whipped around just in time to see the body of the swiss guardsman yanked from the ground. He was carried off and flung afar, crashing like a rock to the ground. Philip couldn’t breathe, frozen in shock. Which was when he saw another demon streaking toward the American woman’s back. 

He hurried toward her, hoping to get to her before the demon, but his cape snagged on the very same logs that Rowan took the branch. He stumbled, but a shine caught his gaze. It was the gun. He grabbed it by the barrel, only to gasp with the pain of its heat, and quickly repositioned it.

But before he could get the gun to Rowan, darkness smothered the sky. He was on his back. The creature’s limbs pricking and grabbing at him. Robes tearing. He yelled defiantly, but no amount of scrambling won his escape.

Somehow, the gun went off and the thing screamed in pain and flew off him. Adrenaline pushed him to his feet. When he found Rowan, he breathing hard and panting something about her taking the gun.