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You also fail miserably to land a hit on the monster, and the weapon clattering on the ground only serves to draw the demon’s attention and ire upon you. Now ****, you turn to make for the garden and run, but your limbs are stiff, the air like treacle. You barely manage a half step before a hand bigger than the paws of a brown bear closes around your waist, claws digging through your night clothes into your flesh. You scream in pain, and are thrown to the ground on your back. The last thing you see is the Incubus’s face as it decides whether to turn or drain you. Its jaws drop open, fangs sticking out, and it dives to your chest. It’s over in a matter of seconds; your body emptied of all meat and blood, the demon moves on, leaving your husk to feast on its next victim...