Jake quickly ran out into the arena, grabbed Billy’s right hand, and held it aloft. “The winner, by default!” He glanced at the split in the ground. “Or at least, by some kind of fault.”

Billy seemed to be calming down—or at least, his eyes were getting less red.

“Hey! No fair!” Harold protested, trying to ignore his dampened pants. “Demonic possession isn’t allowed! That’s cheating!”

“Are you sure?” The Thumb War referee pulled a rulebook out of his pocket and started flipping through it. “Hmm. I don’t see anything about it…”

“Look under ‘performance-enhancing drugs,’” Harold suggested.

Billy emitted a low, gutteral growl. Jake glanced at him, then at Harold. “I think I should suggest a new strategy: let the demon win.”

Harold cringed and stumbled backward, tripping and falling on his butt. “But—my record!” he whined.

“You tied the old one,” Billy rumbled, in a voice that sounded like it came out of the split in the ground. “Be content with that.”

Harold paled as his pants grew damper. “Um…okay!”