The knife cut into his palm; the claws dug into his skin. Caim realized too late that he was dealing with a true demon and found his hands trapped. Farfarello's smirk, the deadly gleam in his eyes, the sudden, almost-invisible gleam of teeth - Caim was reminded of the battles on the field, the demons and sycophants he cut down in countless numbers. But they fought with blades and magic, and he had a sword, and he rode on her back.

Something had gone very wrong.

As Farfarello lunged up to take a bite out of his throat, Caim lurched back, ripping his hand out of the knife with a silent cry of pain. His other hand was still firmly caught in Farfarello's, so he took advantage of what he had and tried to slam his newly-freed and bloody fist into Farfarello's face. Curling his hand into a fist was excruciating, but he couldn't let the pain stop him. He had to get away - had to get a weapon --