Page 44 of Blaze of Our Lives

“I know.” I could hear the smugness in her tone. Afterward, she roared her battle cry, “Tonight, we dine on calamari!”

I tried not to choke on the maniacal laugh threatening to explode from my mouth. This whole situation was twisted.

In theory, the idea of slicing and dicing a Kraken’s cousin was excellent. In practice, though, it had some major logistical problems. For one, holding a sword in my only hand while lying on my stomach on a bridge that was being rocked by a famished sea monster was more complicated than expected. A lot more complicated than if I had all my fucking arms and legs. Each time I took a swipe, I came perilously close to being dumped to my death by the deranged creature. Drowning wasn’t how I wanted to die. There were tons of better ways to bite the big one that didn’t include actual biting.

“What’s happening? Did you slay it?” Pandora asked.

“No,” I said, trying my hardest to slice even part of the tentacle off. “I have to get closer to it.”

“Try electrocuting it,” she suggested. “It may not kill it, but it might make it slide back into the water, giving you enough time to get past it.”

Again, Pandora to the rescue with an outstanding idea.

“On it,” I said, retracting my sword and raising my hand as high as possible without falling off the bridge. I sent the bolt. To my horror, it bounced off the monster and headed back my way. NO!”

It hit. It was an excellent bolt. It hurt like a mofo. It also severed off my good arm and leg. I was now a stump on a bridge waiting to be eaten by a sea monster.

“What the FUCK?” Pandora yelped.

“I’m sorry,” I told my ride or die. “We’re about to get eaten.”

“WHAT?” she screeched.

“My fault. I’m not the badass,” I said, closing my eyes and waiting for the inevitable. “So sorry.”

Just when I thought it couldn’t get much worse than getting eaten by a sea monster while in stump form, it did. I was dragged off the bridge by my hair by Heff Brobst. He whistled a happy tune as he deposited me on the other side. Thankfully, I was on my back, giving me a decent field of vision. What I saw, however, wasn’t so great.

“Youse can’t win like dat,” Phyllis announced, smoking two cigarettes at once. “I told youse, if youse die youse have to start over.”

“I’m not dead,” I pointed out.

She laughed. “Do youse think youse can finish the challenge like dat? No arms? No legs?”

I shrugged what was left of my shoulders. “I could give it a shot.”

She laughed harder. The talking ashtray snapped her little fingers with a lit cig in each. Of all the things to focus on when I was literally a stump, I couldn’t fathom how she didn’t drop the cigs. I quickly got over my absurd fascination when she produced a glowing, icy-white sword that was as big as she was. Blood-red veins pulsed through the blade, making it even more menacing.

I seriously could not believe this was happening. I blinked at the slicing, dicing ashtray of a woman. This was bad. Worse than bad. This had to be one of the worst fucking days of my life thus far.

Without any pomp or circumstance, the insane woman raised the sword over her head while still holding two lit cigarettes. “In order for youse to start at the beginning, youse have got to suffer the end.”

And on that note, the crazy bitch decapitated me.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Miraculously, I was back at the starting point of the game. I was also all in one piece and fully dressed. I checked. Twice. Phyllis and Heff Brobst were back in the bleachers. The course looked pristine—no evidence of explosions and no random body parts lying around. Everything was as it had been, except that the Demons were missing. No Drogruzun. No Ezzanod and no Brolrath. The disappointment of not seeing my buddies hit me like a punch.

Glancing around, I searched for green goo on the ground. There was none. My stomach clenched, and my gaze shot up to the trees. I heaved a sigh of relief that the vultures were still muzzled.

“Youse got fifteen minutes before the game restarts. Use dat time wisely,” Phyllis informed me through the bullhorn. “And make sure youse find youse some luck. Youse are gonna need it!” The talking ashtray cackled so hard she had a coughing fit that I hoped would end her.

Sadly, it didn’t.

“Where are the Demons?” I called out.

“Back in Snoz,” she answered, still coughing. “Dem idiots ain’t worth nothin’.”

“Wimpy-assed pussies,” Heff volunteered, sounding bored as he ate popcorn and studied his cell phone. The asshole didn’t even look up.

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