Tara swung again at the beast, her hammer whiffing through the air. This time it had managed to dodge her properly, but then, sure enough, it disappeared. Pop! The sound was almost comical, a jolly high-pitched popping sound like one that a small child might make, totally incongruous with the eyeless monstrosity that produced it. …
Tara is the martial tank hero in my fantasy stories, like a fighter, paladin, or barbarian.
The room had a domed ceiling of twelve arches. The thick transparent glass floor was the face of a giant six-handed clock, ticking ever so quietly. In the center of the magically lit chamber was a being of metal and feminine shape. It rose from a cross-legged sitting position, and drew sword and shield.
As Tara’s hammer came down on the last demon’s skull, she collapsed down too. The head-cracking strike splattered her with its foul tar-like blood, further drenching her as the hell-smoke rose from it and the other smote fiends. As she sat there panting, breathing in the fumes and covered in grime, Lucius ran up to her from across the volcanic field.
It turned its head towards them, and they met a gaze like the colorless face of a barn owl, sharp beak and terrible eyes black as night staring back at them.