Cullen Bloodstone Narrative
In some ways, this was even worse than the dimension Cullen's father had dropped him into before dying. While that place had all kinds of monsters - from the corporeal to the ghostly - at least there had been ways to make food there, water to drink and bottle if one knew where to look. This was just a hostile wasteland and Cullen was starting to feel the effects. He had wanted to keep track, to know a final number that he'd taken out one way or another, but it all blurred together as they climbed the rocky terrain. He was fine letting Megan lead - she seemed to know where she was going.
Cullen had been trying to keep a watchful eye on their perimeter but in moment of exhaustion, he wondered what Rich was doing. It seemed to be all the demons needed. Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Cullen spun, brandishing the tire iron parallel to the ground, catching a demon on the end like one would prepare a kebab.
A rustling behind him made him swing his upper body, trying to shake the demon off his one good weapon. He'd lost one knife already and knew that he was one bone away from chipping off the sharp tip of another. He'd been lucky to find that tire iron before they left.
The demon lashed out at him, claws black and a good six inches long. Cullen reared back, grabbing the tire iron with both hands and forcing it out of the demon on the end. The gushing of insides was almost as bad as the smell. Raising his leg, Cullen slammed the heel of his boot into the demon's chest, bringing the cold iron down hard on its skull before it could tumble away to safety.
He looked around, breathing hard, adrenaline soaring through his veins as he saw who needed help the most and dashed to their side. A ragtag team was still a team.