Shadowy horned demons with glowing red eyes stand in dark, rippling water under a red-lit archway in an ominous dark fantasy scene.

“The path we have to take,” the demon warned Damien, “lies through the substance of the Hunter’s own fear. Are you ready for that?” Through the smoky film guarding the room he could see a glistening blackness, like an oil slick, that rippled thickly as the earth-fae flowed into it. Hungry, it seemed. Terribly hungry. A foul odor rose up from its surface, a stink of blood and carrion... and worse. “He feared sunlight. Heat. Healing. All the things that life is made of.” “Don’t be naive, Reverend Vryce.” The vile stuff was moving slowly toward him; if he stayed where he was it would soon make contact. “Death,” he said sharply. “He feared death more than anything.” “Not death,” the demon said. Startled, he looked at Karril. The Iezu’s eyes were dark, unreadable. “Death isn’t a thing or a place,” Karril told him. “It’s a transition. A doorway, not a destination. Think,” he urged. “You know the answer.” And he did, suddenly. He knew it, and grew weak at the thought. Was that what lay ahead of them? No wonder Karril didn’t want to get involved. “Hell,” he whispered. “He feared Hell.” See more