Jasfoup stared at Father Hastock. “I’ll regenerate, you know. It may take me a century or a millennium, but I’ll be back and when I do I’ll find you and I’ll destroy you. Utterly. No redemption.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you try.” The elf nodded to the demons captors and they released the mechanism that would pour thirty gallons of holy water onto the demon’s head.
“No!” Vixen took a flying leap and kicked one of his captors away, barrelling into the demon and taking the water herself. With one arm freed Jasfoup backhanded the second elf, four inch claws punching through his eye sockets and into his brain.
He raised his eye ridges at the horrified priest. “Stockholm syndrome,” he said, standing back so that he wasn’t splashed as the nun rose. “I guess it didn’t take a century after all.”