The ragged man jerked and flinched as the bullets struck. There was a flash of metal and the chain erupted from the skull like the tongue of a frog. It snagged my forearm, wrapped around my wrist, and pulled taut. The muzzle of my gun was yanked to the side as the razor edge of the chain cut my armor. The chain tugged and it began to reel me back toward its demonic visage. The pair of scissors began to open and close rhythmically.

The chain sparked as a bullet struck it. The creature flinched and my wrist was freed. The chain snapped back into the monster’s mouth hole like a retractable tape measure. The monster stumbled back, seemingly in pain. Seeing my chance, I jumped off the stairs, moved right between the four deadly arms, drove the muzzle of my .45 deep into one of the fiery eye holes, jerked the trigger and blew the back of its head off.

Flecks of stuffing floated in the air. The body fell silently, almost gently. The fog parted around it and the pile of rag-wrapped bones and metal implements landed in a disorganized heap. The blue fire winked out of existence. The back of its hood was split open and rather than brains, ragged chunks of bloody fabric fluff rolled across the floor. A fluid that glowed under the black lights came spilling out from every seam, soaked into the rags, and formed a puddle.

I stood over it, waiting, bleeding but breathing, keeping it covered, but it didn’t so much as twitch. But just to be sure I pulled out my lighter and set the rags on fire. The flames spread greedily. The glowing goo was extremely flammable. I reloaded my guns as the fire consumed the body. “Whatever you were, you’re dead now…Asshole.”

The music stopped abruptly. “Up here!” Trip shouted. He was behind the DJ station on the second floor. He messed with something else and the normal lights came on with a blinding pop.

“Dude, that was an amazing shot. I can’t believe you hit that chain all the way from over there!”

“I could barely see anything. I just hosed him and got lucky.” Further proof that Trip must be living right. He was far too honest. I wouldn’t have said anything and just let him think that I was that awesome.

The cuts on my forearm and calf burned, but they weren’t bleeding too badly. Addressing them could wait a minute. Thank goodness for Kevlar. I limped up the stairs and made my way down the walkway. Trip had dragged Green onto one of the lounge couches and put a tourniquet around his leg. All Hunters keep a few of those in our kits. When you run into as many different things that can remove limbs as we do, you’d be stupid not to.