I tried to pull away, which triggered my gag reflex. The only effect was that gorge rose in my throat and squeezed into every gap, burning my throat where it rested. The ‘breathing’ of the growth gurgled in that small amount of fluid.

Another two blades appeared. Rain threw one—aimed at the growth this time.

Lord of Loss shifted position, putting his own body between the blade and the growth. It hit him.

I hit him. A kick, strength active. It was enough to do damage, but the damage wasn’t enough to change things.

Rain threw for the third time. A scythe cutting through the air, traveling end over end.

Lord of Loss took a step to the side, so it would miss.

With abdomen and flight, I kicked out, bringing my foot up, catching the growth and repositioning it.

The blade caught my leg and the growth.

The growth swelled in my throat again, and this time the swelling forced it down, moved the whole mass. I brought the leg with the silver line on it back to kick—

Lord of Loss gripped the growth and pulled—enough to break it where the line had caught it. I could feel some of the strength go out of it. Slowing it down, reducing some of the immediate swelling, which also had the effect of causing the gorge in my throat to sink, not quite swallowed. The gurgling was worse, and I couldn’t breathe in the moment, even with the apparatus inside me.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said.

Staring him down, I brought my leg back again, to kick him.

He caught me with another clawed hand, around the pelvis, limiting my movement.

I still had the chain in my hand, for all the good it did. I had the growth in my throat, two hands gripping me awkwardly, simultaneously too gentle and too constricting, covering my body from shoulder to mid-thigh.

No choice.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the swelling at my nose, that felt like it was going to expand until my nose was just a hole a baseball could fall through.

I used the Wretch. I felt it expand around me, pressing out, clawing at Lord of Loss. I felt the grip loosen slightly.

I dropped, slipping free.

“Aha!” he said, almost happy. “So that’s your forcefield. I was having trouble putting it together.”

The Wretch grabbed and tore at the growth that was still jutting from my face, just as I’d feared it would. In an instant, before I could react or realize just where and how fiercely it was gripping the appendage, flesh was torn away and I was left with four to six inches of raw, slippery flesh outside of my mouth, and what felt like three feet of flesh inside.