Elijah's eyes darted back and forth. The horde of demons was as thick now as the black heavens above, their own beady eyes watching his every move. Some held back the wilder ones, as they drooled and slobbered over the dusty cobblestone road. In one hand Elijah gripped his pistol, the trigger screaming out to be pulled. A thousand red eyes watched him. A bead of sweat trickled down his face, and past a mad grin. Elijah hated Sundays so very much.
His hands were trembling now. The horde's eyes grew wider, as did their mouths, tongues dripping out and panting. The trigger was screaming louder now, almost moving by itself. The eyes were like blood red moons now, widened so that the veins were bulging. The barrel of the pistol sang in harmony with the trigger, Do it, Do it, DO IT. The claws seemed longer now, the fangs much sharper. The begging from his gun throbbed in Elijah's head, beating the insides of his skull and threatening to crack it from the inside. An small, unwise demon leapt out, claws extended and fangs exposed.
His finger slipped...
BANG.
The ash fell like snow.
And the horde descended upon him.