speed of sound. This will cut through given time and a very steady hand.
I angle my barrel upward, reasoning that if my mate is inside the room, any stray shots will go over her head. Then I spread my legs out wide, brace my back against the far wall, and depress the trigger.
Slowly, I grind a red line across the twin blast doors. The vibration in my arms soon has them numbing up, and it’s a strain to keep the gun steady. I think I start shouting about halfway through the line, my rage mingling with the repeated cough of the mini gun.
At last, I carve my way to the other side and none too soon. The Predator’s barrel glows red hot, and pressing the trigger only results in a metallic click as I’m out of ammo.
I give the doors one firm kick below the line and the bottom halves fall inward. Instantly my eyes take in the peril Lamira is in. She’s being held on her knees between two burly hybrids while a third monstrosity—I can’t even take in how horrific its disfigurement truly is—has its grotesquely enlarged maw poised to bite her head clean off.
The chain gun thumps heavily to the floor as I adopt a three-point stance and then charge headfirst into the room. Dozens of the monsters gape in astonishment as I wade right through their number until my horns impale one of the hybrids holding my mate’s arm fast.
I stand up to my full height and jerk my head and shoulders to the side, sending his twitching corpse flying across the room and crashing into several of his fellows. They fall prone. Without slowing down I snatch Lamira up and shove her behind me out of the open doors before taking up a position in the now cut open portal. If they want to get to my mate, they’re going to have to go through me first.
At first, they seem confused as to what to do next. Finally, one of them who seems a little less handicapped by his disfigurement than the others speaks.
“We kill hooman woman.”
They take up the chorus, pressing in closer on my position. Some stagger unsteadily on misshapen feet, others hobble about on their knuckles like primates, and some of the truly hideous slither along on their bellies as a serpent might.
“Kill the hooman, kill the hooman, kill the hooman.”
“You will not harm her. If you continue your advance, I promise you only pain and death.”
The one who spoke first sneers at me, his ugly face contorting into a mask of pure hatred. “We no care. Life is pain. Death is release.”
Then they surge forward. I twist at the waist, building up power for a truly magnificent roundhouse punch. My knuckles strike three of them at once—two in the face and one on the temple. They fall like rain but more are pressing in, trampling the bodies of their kin with sadistic abandon.
These monsters truly have nothing to lose. That makes them far more dangerous than their physical infirmities might otherwise suggest. I draw a beautifully curved Kilgari fighting dagger from my boot and extend my Hael Hound punch blade from my gauntlet. I might not be part of their number any longer, but I held onto this little beauty.
Launching my arm into an overhand right, I bury the punch blade into the chest of the nearest hybrid. When I retract my weapon, I do so by swinging my hand in an arc, slashing the throat of another.
Were I fighting normal foes, ones who actually cared if they lived to fight another day, I’d be able to keep these creatures at bay with my blades. But these aren’t normal foes. They don’t care if I cut off their fingers, their hands, or even bury my knife in their hearts.
The chamber becomes the stage for a gruesome and tragic ballet as the hybrids mob me and I send each and every one of them to the next life. Normally, I might take some pleasure in the death of my foes, but these are pitiable creatures, and I am, in this instance, the instrument of their mercy.
I blink blood out of my eyes in a brief moment where the chaos of melee slows. Most of the blood isn’t mine, but their claws and teeth have crisscrossed my body with painful wounds. At the moment, less than ten of my foes continue the attack, each of them grievously injured. The one who seems to