The Sanguis demon grabs his leg, claws biting in deeply as it tugs on Ronan. He yelps in pain. He snags the gun with his fingertips, pulling it closer, yelling out in pain as he gets hit with claws over and over. He can smell his own blood in the air.
Ronan twists his body, gun up, so he can fire toward the Sanguis demon. He nails it in the shoulder, blood spurts out, and the demon lets out a horrible scream. It gives Ronan enough time to find his feet, but when he does, he finds he can hardly put his right leg down. The leg of his pants is shredded and stained with blood, a lot of blood. His left arm is equally useless. But he’s right-handed and that’s what matters. Ronan holds the gun steady and shoots, hitting the Sanguis in the chest.
But it doesn’t stop the Sanguis demon. It just gi
