Again, the hook struck him. This time it was across the face. The impact changed his orientation and gave me the opportunity to strike out, kicking. I remembered the lessons I’d had learning to fight while airborne, and applied them. Rotation was key, and my rotation was helped by the fact that the hook’s weight was pulling me one way. Wretch active, heavy blow delivered.

The Wretch broke and I had to pull my hands away before the cable tore right past my hands and shredded them. Wrong timing. The only saving grace was that I’d just delivered a heavy hit, and all of the momentum was gone. Cables swung through the air and the damaged hook and pulley combination tumbled end over end.

I caught it. Not a great catch.

Rain had stopped for a second before resuming the use of his emotion field. I wasn’t sure why. I looked back, and saw he wasn’t that far from the building Lord of Loss had used as a springboard. Dangerously close.

Lord of Loss wasted no time, lunging again, though he hadn’t fully healed. Catching me before I could get my momentum. I tried to hit him and I failed.

He caught my cable, forcing me to either go with him or lose my weapon.

I went with him. I let him pull me down, then added my flight to the downward momentum. The Wretch and I slammed into him, turning what had been a landing into a crash.

While the Wretch was inactive, I used the cable to bind one leg to snout. The moment the Wretch was available, I hit him again.

Something seized my foot. Beneath Lord of Loss was a pool of gore-slick floorboards and scattered pastel-painted furniture. Reaching from that wreckage was another tongue, though this time without elbows. Instead, it was covered in polyps.

Not polyps. Tiny heads and limbs. They had me by the calf, and groping fingers, hands, and gummy mouths were working at my boot. One head bulged, swelling overlarge as another mass was pumped through the tongue and out the mouth, into the top of my boot.

I shook it free before it took root or whatever. The mess in my boot was still wet, creeping down toward my toes, but the larger mass had fallen free.

I roped the tongue to Lord of Loss’s leg with more cable, before delivering the heaviest hit to him I could. The timing of the hit was off, as he lurched to an upright position.

You’re forgetting your lessons, I told myself. You had this exact same sensation as you tried to spar with Uncle Neil, and he recovered too quickly.

You’re better than this, I told myself, with the voice of everyone I’d disappointed, and a dark, joyless feeling in my gut. Swimming uphill, drowning. Falling. Suffocating under disappointment.