its head high as if to intimidate me. A wasted move, since I was already intimidated. But maybe it appealed to its sense of drama. Long teeth dripped acid from its open jaws. Drops hit the ground and sizzled on the asphalt, creating fumes that smelled like ammonia. I coughed, backing away. I did not want the wyrm’s saliva on me. It’s one thing to be mousy, another to be disfigured.
The wyrm thickened the air with its poison breath. The dragon closed its mouth, its cheeks expanding cartoonishly. What the…
A puffer wyrm?
Poison came spewing out of its mouth, needlelike liquid missiles arcing in the air, landing on whatever was in the way. I gathered enough power—which meant not much—to put up a low-grade shield to protect myself. Others weren’t so fortunate. There were loud splats, and people started screaming. A woman next to me crumpled. The poison didn’t just melt her flesh. It squirmed like a sack of maggots, eating into her skin and the meat of her body. With each bite the bits of poison grew bigger and smelled more like rancid fish oil. She shrieked as she rolled on the ground, trying to brush them off her skin, but wherever she touched them they split and reproduced.
She wasn’t the only one thrashing around, and I swallowed hard. My protective instinct screamed at me to do something. Those who hadn’t gotten hit by the spit maggots jumped into their vehicles and tried to get away. But on the west side they couldn’t get past the wyrm, and on the east side all the lanes were jammed. The wyrm saliva began to eat at steel and glass.
Damn, damn, damn.
The wyrm geared itself up for another attack, and this time I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. I honestly had nothing left in me. I looked around desperately for something to hide behind.
The dragon reared back and spat again. I ducked and rolled, but part of it hit me, and I gasped at the searing pain on my left shoulder. I could see the maggot, its little teeth tearing my flesh. I whipped out the knife I used for killing demons, but the maggot was faster. It burrowed into my shoulder, like a hot poker penetrating deeper and deeper into the joint, and I bit my lower lip until it bled. Finally I screamed.
My vision began to blur, but I could see the wyrm arcing toward me, its slavering maw wide open. For its size, it was surprisingly fast. I tried to roll away, but it closed its jaws on my other shoulder, the good one, and pumped poison into my system. Tens—perhaps hundreds—of maggots wiggled into my body. The wyrm raised its head high, my body still clamped between its jaws, and the world tilted crazily.
Suddenly a figure appeared before the wyrm. A white cape fell from his broad shoulders, and silver-white moonbeam hair swayed down his back. In his right hand, he held a seven-foot sword. His feet were planted widely apart, and he seemed to radiate light.
Ramiel.
He said something, a challenge, in a language I couldn’t understand.
The wyrm hissed at him but didn’t let go of me.
The man moved with the grace of an Olympic athlete, like he had oiled ball bearings for joints. He plunged his sword deep into the wyrm’s belly and ran down its length, pulling the blade as he went. The skin split open like a tightly stretched drum, and I felt the shock travel through the monster’s body.
The dragon’s guts spilled out, splattering onto the ground. A sharp metallic stench of blood mixed with digestive juices and semirotted flesh stung my nose. If I’d had the energy, I would have puked.
The wyrm keened eerily and collapsed. Its head smashed into the road, breaking it into little chunks and slamming me against the asphalt. I felt my bones crack, tendons and muscles tear loose. Fine black dust rose from the impact; breathing became difficult. I coughed blood and blinked. Things seemed suddenly far away and not all that important.
Ramiel landed on the wyrm’s cheek and glanced at me. His green eyes were crystal clear, his armor just like
The wyrm thickened the air with its poison breath. The dragon closed its mouth, its cheeks expanding cartoonishly. What the…
A puffer wyrm?
Poison came spewing out of its mouth, needlelike liquid missiles arcing in the air, landing on whatever was in the way. I gathered enough power—which meant not much—to put up a low-grade shield to protect myself. Others weren’t so fortunate. There were loud splats, and people started screaming. A woman next to me crumpled. The poison didn’t just melt her flesh. It squirmed like a sack of maggots, eating into her skin and the meat of her body. With each bite the bits of poison grew bigger and smelled more like rancid fish oil. She shrieked as she rolled on the ground, trying to brush them off her skin, but wherever she touched them they split and reproduced.
She wasn’t the only one thrashing around, and I swallowed hard. My protective instinct screamed at me to do something. Those who hadn’t gotten hit by the spit maggots jumped into their vehicles and tried to get away. But on the west side they couldn’t get past the wyrm, and on the east side all the lanes were jammed. The wyrm saliva began to eat at steel and glass.
Damn, damn, damn.
The wyrm geared itself up for another attack, and this time I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. I honestly had nothing left in me. I looked around desperately for something to hide behind.
The dragon reared back and spat again. I ducked and rolled, but part of it hit me, and I gasped at the searing pain on my left shoulder. I could see the maggot, its little teeth tearing my flesh. I whipped out the knife I used for killing demons, but the maggot was faster. It burrowed into my shoulder, like a hot poker penetrating deeper and deeper into the joint, and I bit my lower lip until it bled. Finally I screamed.
My vision began to blur, but I could see the wyrm arcing toward me, its slavering maw wide open. For its size, it was surprisingly fast. I tried to roll away, but it closed its jaws on my other shoulder, the good one, and pumped poison into my system. Tens—perhaps hundreds—of maggots wiggled into my body. The wyrm raised its head high, my body still clamped between its jaws, and the world tilted crazily.
Suddenly a figure appeared before the wyrm. A white cape fell from his broad shoulders, and silver-white moonbeam hair swayed down his back. In his right hand, he held a seven-foot sword. His feet were planted widely apart, and he seemed to radiate light.
Ramiel.
He said something, a challenge, in a language I couldn’t understand.
The wyrm hissed at him but didn’t let go of me.
The man moved with the grace of an Olympic athlete, like he had oiled ball bearings for joints. He plunged his sword deep into the wyrm’s belly and ran down its length, pulling the blade as he went. The skin split open like a tightly stretched drum, and I felt the shock travel through the monster’s body.
The dragon’s guts spilled out, splattering onto the ground. A sharp metallic stench of blood mixed with digestive juices and semirotted flesh stung my nose. If I’d had the energy, I would have puked.
The wyrm keened eerily and collapsed. Its head smashed into the road, breaking it into little chunks and slamming me against the asphalt. I felt my bones crack, tendons and muscles tear loose. Fine black dust rose from the impact; breathing became difficult. I coughed blood and blinked. Things seemed suddenly far away and not all that important.
Ramiel landed on the wyrm’s cheek and glanced at me. His green eyes were crystal clear, his armor just like
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