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does, shoot and shoot and shoot, it s crazy, it makes no sense, but the Shadow knows, twin forty-fives
and the weed of crime bears bitter fruit
He staggers backward, his own insanity hurling itself against the reef of the spell, an irresistible force
smashing against an immovable object. I should take the opportunity to just shoot him, but I m not an
executioner.
He raises his right hand, the one clenched in a fist, and now I can see something poking out by his
thumb he s holding on to some kind of elongated crystal, one that does more than just shine with
reflected light from the armor; it seems to have its own internal glow, something that shimmers and
pulses with different colors before shifting to a steady crimson.
Da Vinci shakes his head once, then fixes me with a look that no longer seems uncertain. That was
impressive, he says. You might have been able to shut down my mind completely if not for one
thing. I have the Balancer.
I see now that the crystal he holds is emitting blue light from one end and red from the other. The
Balancer gem, the one Stone took from Doctor Transe. Not entirely clear on what it does, but from its
name I guess it s counteracting the chaos I set off in da Vinci s skull.
Amazing, he continues. I never even suspected the existence of that spell, but now that it s gone
everything seems different.
Situation hasn t changed, I point out, the Ruger still aimed between his eyes.
No, he agrees. But my priorities have.
He throws a gauntleted arm in front of his face at the same second the armor bursts into brilliance. I
squeeze off three fast shots as my vision flares into white pain, and hear three distinct ricochets off
metal. The Ruger would punch through any ordinary kind of armor, but whatever the Centurion suit is
made of isn t ordinary.
I throw myself to the side and snap off two more shots, but it doesn t sound like I hit anything but the
wall. Then my wrist goes numb and I hear a heavy thump on the floor next to me.
I can t feel my hand. Why can t I feel my hand?
My vision clears slowly. Da Vinci is standing over me, the Midnight Sword pointed at my heart. I try
to aim my gun at him, but I don t have it anymore.
Or my right hand.
My arm just ends. There s no pain, no blood. I bring it closer, trying to blink away the spots in my
vision, and see what looks like a perfect transparent cutaway at the stump. I can see blood vessels,
muscles, an artery but I m not bleeding.
Get on your feet, Da Vinci says. Or I ll send your head where your hand went.
I glance down. The Ruger s lying on the floor, but my hand s nowhere to be seen.
I d applaud, if I could.
He takes me to the basement. Access is through a hidden door in the study, but at least we don t have to
slide down Batpoles. I d have a hard time doing that one-handed.
I m feeling kind of shocky, which is to say light-headed, flushed, and short of breath. My heart s
pounding like I just ran a marathon. What happened to my hand? I say, trying to make it sound like a
demand rather than a plea.
He motions me into the stairwell with the sword. I sent it through time. It still exists in fact, it s still
connected to you but nerve impulses are more complicated than blood flow, so you can t feel it. It ll
return in around an hour.
Great. My hand is off having adventures while I m the prisoner of Dr. Frankenshine. I wonder where
the hell Eisfanger is and then I get my answer.
He s lying sprawled and unconscious in the middle of the large room at the base of the stairs. I know
he s unconscious and not dead because he s still in were form. Half a dozen red-feathered darts jut
from his back like an abortive attempt to sprout wings. His aluminum case is open, though maybe he
managed to accomplish something before he was brought down.
I see you didn t come alone after all, da Vinci says. Unfortunately for your partner, I have an
excellent security system. He s lucky he isn t a pire; options for dealing with them are considerably
more lethal.
I look around, trying to focus through the shock, looking for options of my own. What I see is
All the madness that da Vinci s managed to hide.
It s not the Batcave, it s not the Fortress of Solitude. It s a nest. The walls, the floor, the ceiling,
everything s been coated in layers of overlapping comic book pages, a crazy quilt of brightly colored
images that cover every surface, firmly glued in place. It s not just the walls, either I can see the
outline of a desk, several chairs, a large bookcase, and a globe. The whole room looks like it was
attacked by some kind of mutant wallpaper virus, one that s been festering and growing in the dark; the
layers are so thick in places that the right angles where the walls meet the floor and ceiling are now
gentle curves.
The only things in the room that have escaped the paper are a few pieces of equipment, including a
workstation atop the covered desk. That, and the brass cowboy bolted to the far wall.
Right, I say. The cavalry is already in custody. Outstanding.
The Quicksilver Kid nods at me, which is about the only part of his body he seems able to move.
Ma am. Sorry you got dragged into this.
I m used to it. Happens so often I m thinking of getting scuff plates mounted on the backs of my
shoes.
Have a seat, Bloodhound, da Vinci says.
He motions to one of the encrusted chairs, and I reluctantly perch on it. Boy, this day is just full of
firsts. Never thought I d be sitting on Superman s face
He backhands me, almost casually. It knocks me right off the chair and makes my ears ring. I can taste
blood in my mouth.
Do not blaspheme in this place, da Vinci says. I will not allow it.
I take my seat again, slowly. Right. Exactly where are you going with all this, Shelley? You ve got the
Bravos weapons well, four out of five, anyway but your partner s dead and you ve completed the
sequence you set out to. What s supposed to happen now?
I would have thought that was obvious. The characters have gone through their paces, the plot has
unfurled. Now it s time for publication . . .
He takes one of the silver throwing knives from his bandolier, crouches, and stabs it into the floor. It
goes in all the way to the hilt without so much as a sound. He moves a few feet and does so again,
talking as he works. This is what gives the ritual power, you see. Unlike the first Bravo Brigade
comic, the one that ended the industry here, this story line will be published on another Earth. Your
Earth, Bloodhound. I will use the Sword of Midnight, boosted by the energies of the Balancer gem, to
cut a hole not just in time but across dimensional boundaries. It will focus on a writer from your reality
as a conduit, and my story will be read not just by a few members of a secret society, but by
thousands. And in reading it they will complete an occult circuit, conferring a great deal of occult
power to me. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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