Blackjack Wayward - By Ben Bequer Page 0,78

eager for more. I threw another left hook that spun his head around, spraying his blood all over my face and chest. Shaking off the pummeling, his arm shot out like a piston, and despite getting my guard up, it felt like being hit by a truck.

“Motherfucker!” I shouted, firing off punch after punch, feeling a maddening, white-blinding, blood-curdling rage begin to grow. It was fed by the frustration I felt in the aftermath of Hashima, of the punitive reaction and of every injustice they had laid upon me.

My eyes were wide, teeth clenched in an unhinged growl, and I unleashed it all on this poor fool, blow upon blow crushing his face to a shattered mass of blood and bone. It reminded me of pounding on the unbreakable wall on Hashima, except monkey boy’s face had give; his skull was taking the full force of each unbridled blow. I threw twenty punches with each hand, socking his head back and forth, until his bone structure lost integrity, collapsing under my fists. I stepped back as his body slipped to the floor in a bloody heap, and for good measure, I threw one last punch at the massive vault door, indenting the heavy metal, leaving a mark for all time.

“Zundergrub!” I yelled, my strength returned if only for the moment. I could feel the blood pumping through my veins, and I was eager for more. “Where are you, you coward? I’m going to fucking kill you!”

The sound of my voice was an insane melding of exhaustion, desperation, and rage, and it frightened me. More importantly, it halted the mob of Zundergrub’s cronies that had finally reached us. A few were by the doorway, looking inside, studying the mangled bodies of their companions.

“Don’t any of you want some?” I roared, challenging the newcomers, none of whom answered the call. They were more bewildered than afraid, but of the first bunch to arrive, none of them was eager to face the guy who had crushed the hyena-man.

I shot a glance back at Claire, who was now in her full regalia. Her hands glowed and she mumbled as a sheath of energy formed around her body, trailing dancing sigils and motes of light.

“I’m gonna kill all you fuckers,” I raged, moving away from her, putting more distance between Claire and the amassing bad guys at the door. Summoning what little strength I had left, I threw myself through the portal as the thing faded out.

There was no transition, or tunnel with magical effects, or anything. It was a blink: one moment in the jail, the next lying on a sandy desert, with Claire standing in front of me.

Where she had been weak and injured before, she was herself now, dressed in black, with a long skirt, low on her hips, a bare midriff, and a tight leather top with long sleeves and a high collar. Her cloak was held by a pair of silver brooches on her shoulders, the cowl casting a foul shadow across her now-pristine face, and tied to her waist was the glowing dagger.

My bravado and strength faded, I smiled at her and passed out.

I had no accurate method to mark the passing of time in this arid, inhospitable land, but judging by my long sleep-then-wake-then-pass-out cycles, it felt like several hours passed by the time I was able to climb onto my knees.

My eyes weren’t adjusting to the brightness of day, even after a long time enduring the desert, so I kept them mostly closed. I felt my way along the sandy ground until I found the shade of a small bush to hide under and lay there while I got my bearings.

I had to be back in the dream, back at Utopia with the mind-job resetting itself into a new paradigm to keep me going, keep my mind busy. The episode with Aryani, my explosive rage, had triggered some sort of reset, presented me with an escape scenario. Everything was a blur, and all my senses were off. My hearing was a permanent howl, and my skin tingled, as if being probed by a thousand needles at once. I felt like one big sprain, and my whole body was wound tight, aching and sore. It was easier not to move, to sit still and let the day pass into night. Keeping me in that semi-vegetative state had an ongoing degenerative effect on my musculature, much like a coma patient’s, but I had no idea how long I had

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