Dust billowed up from the warriors, and Tub and I used it to scurry around the periphery of the dome. We couldn’t see three feet in front of us, but used our feet to gauge drop-offs and our hands to push aside brambles of metal. Against the backs of our necks spattered the gore to which I’d grown accustomed: cold slivers of troll skin, hot jets of arterial blood, the sticky mesh of softie tissue. The cries of captured kids grew louder as we neared, a sound that battled against the entranced moan of the Gumm-Gumms:

“Killaheed. Killaheed. Killaheed.”

The bare face of the plateau split the befilthed air like a ship emerging from fog.

“We’re here,” I sighed.

“Great,” Tub said.

Then a lone creature materialized from the smog. Across its chin was a cross-shaped scar. It was the nasty little troll that had weaseled away from me beneath the tire pile at Keavy’s Junk Emporium. With its unrivaled sense of smell, this rust troll had tracked me through the dust and smoke and viscera. It snapped its towering body like a bullwhip and hissed a mist of venomous oil from its crude slash of a mouth.

“Correction,” Tub said. “Not great. This is not great.”

“I got this skinny bastard,” I growled. “Stand back.”

Never before had I drawn Claireblade and Cat #6 with such operatic flair. I believe I saw the rust troll flinch before the tiny gems of its eyes hardened and it writhed sideways. It came fast to my left, but I parried Cat #6 with Jack’s favorite move, Fling the Poop, and when the troll accordioned and sprung to my right, Claireblade enacted another of Jack’s patented salvos, the Blue Jean Surprise. But the troll was wily, dodging the swords and whipping gashes through both legs of my jeans. I cried out in pain and came at the rust troll with both swords swirling.

I had the Ğräçæĵøĭvőd’ñůý against the side of the plateau, and yet my blades rang off the stone with enough force to shake my entire skeleton. The damned thing danced around each strike, mocking me with its coughing laughter. Giving into brute instincts, I clubbed madly, forgetting the rabbit and python in favor of the bull. It was a rookie mistake. The rust troll bit me on one wrist, then the other, and in a flash I’d been disarmed, firelight flashing off my blades where they had stabbed themselves into nearby dirt.

The troll lassoed my waist and flung me against the plateau. My forehead hit rock and I slumped to the ground. The thing’s mouth unzippered and venomous tar dripped down the cycling rows of chainsaw teeth. It darted up my legs, light as an insect, and leaned in to deliver the killing bite.