CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
Stranger knew he could not take on an entire pack of Slogs by himself; the Steef knew he was not invincible, only very powerful. At least this shaman was with him, whatever good the wrinkly green guy might do. Never knew what kind of tricks a shaman had up his nonexistent sleeve.
The Slog leading the pack was a vicious-looking male, teeth bared and barks resounding from its open throat cavities.
Stranger ran forward to meet it.
He anticipated the Slog leader’s leap toward his throat; his punch was already halfway to its destination. His clenched fist smacked the Slog full in the side of the jaw and threw it halfway across the room before it slammed into the floor and slid a record distance.
The second and third were also attacking – one leaping for his legs and the other coming at his chest – but a swift punch-kick combo threw both of them away from him. In the blaze of battle, he barely felt the bleeding tear that another Slog left on his leg; he was already reaching down to grab the animal by the throat and snap its neck with one sharp twist of his hands.
A lightning bolt crackled through the air, sourced from the Mudokon’s shaman staff. It parted into four separate bolts, which exploded into four different Slogs and set all four of them afire.
The bright flash of light – coupled with the sudden screeching the came from all four of the burning Slogs – startled the rest of the pack out of their let’s-kill-Stranger frenzy.
That gave Stranger enough time to leap forward, his arms and legs just a blur of motion and energy, and throw more than six Slogs away from him faster than they could react.
With whimpers of fear, the Slogs in the pack that weren’t unconscious – about a dozen – turned and fled.
Only then did Stranger look down and notice the patter of blood dripping from the gash on his leg, and shrugged it off with something near irritation.
An explosion ripped through the air behind him, and the Steef whirled around with sharp-honed instincts, fists clenching and raising to boxing position.
Through a flaming hole in the wall, apparently opened by a barrage of lasers of some sort, dropped Abe.
Stranger felt a flash of relief. “Abe! You took your time…getting here—” he started to say.
And then he noticed the Mudokon was staggering, one hand laid on a smoking wound in his shoulder, his face contorted into a grimace of pain. “We have to…get out of here!” the blue-skinned hero called out to them. “There’s Snoozers…chasing me!”
The Mudokon shaman raced forward to support Abe with a shoulder, but Stranger turned to the door instead. The shaman was good with his magic, but Stranger was the best fighter among them; while the shaman helped Abe along, Stranger would grab the nearest Slig carbine and shoot anyone that got in their way.
He had barely turned toward the door, Abe and the shaman a few steps behind him, when he heard loud mechanical thumps from behind him.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the Snoozers had just dropped into the room behind them.
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