CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
The Bringer of Pain – Munch, as he had once been called and was no more – felt in a gloating mood.
Perhaps things had not gone exactly the way he had foreseen they were going to, but the events transpiring around him were certainly delicious to watch.
First off, there was the huge battle going on between Sligs and Mudokons on the grounds below. So much death and destruction, all in the same place, nearly made his head spin with happiness.
And then there was the line of Snoozers still marching into the smoking hole on the palace roof, trying to kill Abe. The Bringer of Pain knew they would fail – since, of course, killing Abe was an honor reserved to only himself – but the sight of so many mechanical enforcers marching was grand.
And, of course, there was the old-model Slig shuttle flying toward his jetcopter at high speeds, spitting laser bolts.
The Bringer of Pain narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t in the plan, either.
* * *
“Mow him down!” Cloud encouraged, his fingers so tight around the back of Frizzl’s seat that they tore lines down the cloth. “Destroy that Gabbit before he destroys us!”
Crak gripped the turret controls with both hands steadily, keeping the gun’s sights aimed on the jetcopter ahead. The Slig sat at a chair to the left of the steering controls, staring at a digital display, all targeting reticules centered on the jetcopter.
His fingers depressed the trigger. Laser bolts flew.
Cloud groaned; Crak’s shots flew true, until they hit a translucent blue force field surrounding the jetcopter and dissipated against its energies. The country Slig did not make a sound, nor did he let up on the controls. The turret on the underside of the shuttle kept firing, banging on the shield with constant frenzy.
And then the Gabbit disappeared from the open bay door, which began to slide shut. The jetcopter swiftly swiveled around to face the shuttle.
Cloud felt sweat start to bead on his forehead. “Oh, boy,” he said. “He’s going to shoot back.”
* * *
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