I pushed myself a little further, to reach that cable, to not allow him to so deftly dodge. Expect it.

My hands caught the cable. The Wretch gave those hands strength.

My hands at the cable at lowest point of Wolf-form-Lord-of-Loss’s chest, I hit him with Wretch and pulled the cable taut.

He retaliated. I hit him as he did it, before flying inside his effective reach.

I found the hook, dangling off the side of his neck. I hauled on it. It hadn’t worked with the bird, and I could remember Precipice’s power catching me as I’d failed to alter Lord of Loss’s flight course. Failed to alter it enough.

This time, at least, I could haul his forelimbs off the ground, denying him leverage.

With back legs, he hopped.

I hit him while he was in the air, to throw him off course, and to alter the rotation of his body. It was slight, but while the Wretch was gone, I could fly around, unwinding the cable.

Retrieving my weapon.

I didn’t use the full slack. I wanted the ability to move tighter. To bring the hook around faster. I hurled it around me as I dove.

He landed, all four limbs back on the ground. He wasn’t on the ground for a second before I hit him again. The hook and pulley assembly came down as a dense fifty or sixty pounds of metal, a punch to follow up the diving kick.

“Nice!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

He started reconfiguring. I saw parts that had been gradually moving around his exterior stop moving.

Timing, I thought. I brought the hook around in another tight swing. He leaned back, I flew in. The distances and trajectory of the hook lined up. A heavy blow to his neck.

He swung. Dodge better. I ducked under the sweep of the claw—now more of an arm.

It wasn’t a major factor. It was a factor. Making the lessons learned in the midst of the fight a little more pointed. Driving them home.

Regret and shame were our mind’s way of teaching us, and Precipice instilled a kind of regret, a kind of shame.

A bitter, black kind of schooling. One that could go awry so easily, because the things we felt shame over weren’t always the most accurate.

I hit him twice with the Wretch and twice with the crane hook before he got me. He spiked me down into the ground, and floorboards shattered. In an instant, I was mired in gore.

A hand slipped between my mask and my mouth, and it was moist, soft and boneless. A tiny finger hooked at my eyelid, pulling down hard enough that my chin was hauled to my shoulder.