( He feels it a split second before it happens — like the way hair stands on end before a lightning strike. It feels like goosebumps at the back of his neck, it feels like something charging. The coalescence of power, of fuel, waiting to be sparked. Engine fuel, waiting to ignite. He whips around, but not even his reflexes are fast enough to stop it before it happens.

She's gone.

The faintest flicker of movement has his eyes snapping to where she lands some fifty feet away. He pulls out his rifle. Aims it at her.

She's gone again, further this time — a hundred and fifty feet. Fifty yards. Even as a human he could still make this shot easy. As a demon, it's practically fish in a barrel.

There's a crack from his gun as loud as thunder. Two inches to her right, a bullet embeds itself into rock, sending a spray of dust and pebbles exploding around her. Before the dust settles enough to see clearly again, he calls out: )

Next one won't miss! Don't think I won't just blow your brains out to be petty.

( Frankly, if it seems like he can't catch her before she gets away, and it's a choice between her escaping or him killing her and ruining his own plan? Screw it, he'll find a plan B. Demons are nothing but spite and blood. If he can't have her, nobody can. )

Jump again and see if I'm bluffing. Do it. Go on. I wanna see if your daddy cries when he finds the body. Do it.