A minute later, a new beauty was shoved, crying, into the cage, a skinny green girl probably close to our age. She freaked as soon as the cage door closed and started clawing at it and screaming for them to let her out.
I clutched the glass in front of me with both hands to keep from doing anything stupid. Yet.
Warcry took a loud drink of his beer, then said under his breath, “I make it about thirty spectators and eight or ten Contrails working the lights, cameras, and bringing in the beauties.”
“I doubt many of the spectators will fight back unless we get between them and the exit,” Rali said, giving the people in the stands the hairy eyeball. “They don’t have the taste of bravery on them. They’re just scared little voyeurs wanting a thrill from something that’s safely locked in a cage.”
Down in front of the crowd, a pack of bog ferals was released into the pit. The green girl wailed with terror and curled up in the fetal position. It felt like the glass was going to shatter in my fist.
“How do we want to do this?” I asked.
“Don’t have any bulk Death attacks, do ya, grav?” Warcry asked.
Mass Grave, Hungry Ghost suggested. Death cultivator is too early in his Sho to use the technique, but Hungry Ghost could execute it with Death cultivator’s body.
A picture flashed through my head of Kest trapped down there with those bog ferals and no Spirit to protect herself. Icy Miasma burned my insides, begging to be unleashed. Leveling this place might actually be worth letting Hungry Ghost take over for a little while.
I breathed out, plunging into Last Light, Last Breath like it was nothing.
But Rali stood up before I could give Hungry Ghost the go-ahead.
“Leave that to me,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to try this.”
Out of nowhere, an incredible pressure slammed down on me and everybody else in the stands, crushing us flat to the floor.
Guns Blazing
ALL AROUND THE ROOM, muffled angry and confused shouts went up.
“Oi, big man, what’re you doing?” Warcry grunted through compressed lungs. “We’re on your side.”
“Whoops,” Rali said, laughing sheepishly. “Guess I shouldn’t have made fun of the OSS Shogun all that time. This is harder to direct than you might imagine. I’m going to let you up, but you’d better be ready because I don’t think I have a lot of control over who I release and who I hold down yet.”
“Time for guns blazing,” I croaked, triggering all the Ki-level enhancements and Dead Reckoning, then hitting Hungry Ghost to refill my Spirit sea. “Rali, once you drop the pressure trick, get the girl away from the ferals. Warcry and I’ll take care of the Contrails and any spectators who decide to stand and fight.”
Rali nodded. “Ready?”
Warcry’s flames whooshed on. “Do it, big man.”
The pressure let up. Warcry and I hit our feet and vaulted over the half-walls on either side of the high-roller box. Rali shot out the front toward the cage.
The stands were full of confusion—angry spectators looking around, trying to figure out who had just pulled that Shogun trick on them—but the members of the Contrails were going straight to battle stations. Alarms howled and lights flashed.
From behind the bank of monitors, a fish-faced dude with buzzing wing-fins sprinted at me. With a massive dose of Miasma, I Death Gripped his ankles with an invisible forest of hands. He tripped and went down, but he wasn’t alone.
Out of nowhere the red-skinned demon guy who’d brought us to our table leapt over the fish dude, leathery wings beating against the air.
Dead Reckoning pinged behind me. I threw out a Ki-strengthened back kick and launched the gunned-out space moth from the entryway backward into a couple of spectators. He pulled the trigger as he flew, the bullet winging crazily over my head. He and the spectators went down in a jumble of arms, legs, and wings.
Another warning from Dead Reckoning. I spun, invisible Death Metal popping on both arms, and blocked a swipe from a burning sword. The demon dude swooped away, then banked and came back, slashing for my face again—first with his Spirit sword, then with huge taloned feet.
I dove and rolled, coming up next to the fish-faced dude just as he broke out of Death Grip. He swung an off-balance punch at me, obviously thinking I didn’t have a weapon or any defense. I slammed my weight into a shield block. His knuckles caved against the unseen Death Metal, and he screamed as broken bones stabbed out the back of his hand.
Dead Reckoning made me duck. The demon’s bloodred talons raked through where my head had been and tore into the fish dude’s face and shoulder. The fish went down, trying to hold his destroyed hand and face at the same time.
Down below in the cage, I caught a glimpse of Rali leading the green girl through the few spectators who hadn’t stampeded out of the stands. He knocked away people who got too close with palm strikes and dodged around others.
Instead of coming back for me, the red demon guy tucked his wings and dove at them like a falcon.
“Rali!” I yelled, but he was already shoving the green girl behind him.
The demon’s burning sword sliced at Rali’s face, but Rali swirled his walking stick around the blade, tangling up it and the guy’s arm and jerking him out of the air. As the demon crashed into the tiered benches, Rali slammed the butt of his staff into the dude’s temple, knocking him out cold.
There was a hiss and an explosion behind me. I spun around. The space moth was climbing out of the pile of spectators, shooting anyone who didn’t get off him fast enough. He pointed one of those alien-pirate pistols at me. The fuse was lit.
I planted my feet and slammed a Rigor Mortis palm strike at him. The cap
