Somehow Belial had grown even more. Long, needle-like teeth had sprouted where the old teeth had once been. Viscus drool leaked from his mouth, the stench of which Silas could smell from twenty feet away.
He was channeling more and more of his demonic nature into that shell. It wouldn’t last more than a few hours. But that would be all he needed if he had the amulet and the girl for the ritual. The Amulet was still around his neck, but it had become more of a choker, partially buried in the flesh of his bloated body.
Silas examined his strategies. Usually he advocated the direct approach, but in this case, charging at his adversary outright would probably get him killed. Maybe a more subtle plan? Too bad Mort wasn’t here. He was good at figuring out a more cowardly way.
“I don’t
