Page 146 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

sisters flashed their steel smiles, and I dropped to the ground
as they severed her claw at the wrist. “Was your hand a mere
bauble, as well?” I asked, using both hands to peel the giant
claws from around my throat.
“It’ll grow back,” she returned. “That’s not the first hand
I’ve lost to a knife.”
The queen was fond of charging at me when a more
nuanced battle strategy eluded her, so she came at me again,
shrieking. Despite her lack of finesse, she succeeded at
crushing me against the boulder with her enormous bulk,
pinning me between herself and the unwavering stone.
Sisters back in hand, I thrust them into her distended belly.
Using the boulder to brace myself, I pushed them forward
with all my might, plunging them deeper into the heavy
folds of the queen’s gut. She shrieked as my arms delved
elbow-deep inside her, my sisters making a playground of
her vital organs. The queen shot back reflexively, holding her
gushing midsection with her one good hand as she stumbled
away, finally collapsing to the ground.
My father’s blackening shadow fell across the prone
monstrosity, adding a substantial measure of weight to the
queen’s efforts to shrug off gravity. I strode behind Miss
Patience as she crawled through piles of glowing embers and
sizzling bits of flesh, finally collapsing against a cavern wall.
“Born of nightmares and fresh apple pies. You are surely
a perplexing creature, Black Molly Patience. I must admit,
I’ve come to both loathe and admire you, simultaneously
and in nearly equal measure. While you may have once been
an artifact of the Deadworld, your hunger has made you a tar
pit of sorts, filled with the fossils of the bygone Darkness.
You are, after all, what you eat.”
Miss Patience laughed, little more than a gurgle. “I . . .
suppose you might be right, at that. I hope you win this thing,
little killer. You’ll find my kill list in my sleeping chambers .
. . provided you haven’t blown that to smithereens as well.”
She paused for a moment, grasping ragged breaths. “I really
The Red Son | 149