Page 48 of Blaze of Our Lives

“I like your style, idiot.”

“And I like yours, Shitty Whore.”

The recoilless anti-tank rocket launcher was prepped and ready. I didn’t have my Demon friends here to help me track the time, but I didn’t need them. I had backup legs and arms and the ability to fly. Victory was about to be ours.

“You ready?” I asked Pandora.

“I will repeat my answer from before,” she said. “I was born ready.”

“Works for me,” I told her.

It was time to get dirty.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“One minute until you DIE! Heff Brobst bellowed gleefully through a bullhorn while seated in the bleachers. Phyllis was next to him. She had three cigarettes going and looked strangely relaxed. The talking ashtray was still batshit and then some.

The game and the dialogue were almost an exact replica of the one earlier. The similarities made me feel unsettled and panicky. If it started the same, would it end the same?

“Relax your crack,” Pandora snapped. “I’m feeling your tension, and I don’t like it. I’m tense enough already, jackass.”

“Not helping,” I said as the tribal music blasted through the speakers and the vibrations pounded through my body. “I need your support, not your Grade-A bitchiness.”

“Cut me some slack,” Pandora complained. “I’m in uncharted territory. Being pleasant and working in tandem with someone is hard. I’m trying, imbecile.”

Yet again, the certifiable Demon Goddess who had taken up residence inside me made me laugh. It was uncanny and definitely welcome. Plus, she was trying… and she was succeeding most of the time.

“Slack cut,” I told her. “Stay with me. I’ll narrate again.”

“Idea,” she said.

“Spit it out.”

Heff held the bazooka high in the air. We were seconds away from the cue to start.

“In the mud box, try crawling on all fours instead of belly crawling. It might save some time, and I won’t have to taste that foul dreck you imbibed during the practice run.”

“Practice run?” I questioned.

“Sounds better than failed attempt.”

She had me there. “You’re smart.”

“I know,” she replied.

“Hey, youse,” Phyllis yelled from the stands.

“What?” I called back.

“Youse ain’t gonna win.” She and Heff laughed hysterically. My suspicions were confirmed. The show was rigged in the producers’ favor. Screw those assholes. I was about to do a major rewrite of their script and change the narrative.

“I stand by my recommendation of beheading the fuckers,” Pandora said.

“I’m feeling that vibe,” I replied. “Let’s win this sucker first.”

“Big. Balls.” Her voice was filled with pride. “Be the badass that you are, Cecily.”

The bazooka went off and only six muzzled vultures died this time. I took that as a good omen.

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