18,987 FEET

I hit the clouds at five hundred miles per hour, curling my body around the demon’s hand, clutching it against my stomach as the sharp nails clawed into my wrist, trying to tear open my veins because, like Op Nine had said, that which has never lived cannot be killed.

I let go of the sword. I needed both hands now to get the ring. Wind buffeted me from all sides, slowing my rate of descent, and every hair left on my body stood on end as lightning crackled and popped around me. The sound was deafening, wind and thunder and the blood roaring in my ears.

I lost my grip on Paimon, and it scrambled up my body like a huge spider. Fingers colder than ice wrapped themselves around my throat, squeezing until black stars bloomed and multiplied before my eyes. My gut heaved and my shoulders jerked as I fought to breathe.

I hooked two fingers in the juncture between the thumb and forefinger and yanked with every bit of strength I had left. The hand tore free, and I felt the nails rake long gashes in my neck.

My right arm was shaking uncontrollably with fatigue as I grabbed the ring, pushing the twisting hand against my stomach with my left forearm, holding it still for the split second I needed—and a split second was all I needed—to rip the Great Seal off the finger.

I flung my left arm away from my body and the demon’s hand shot straight up, disappearing into the churning mass of the thunderhead.