Apocalypse: Fairy System Macronomicon (a book to read txt) 📖

“Yeah, I noticed the gods don’t react well to them,” Jeb said, thinking as he studied his enemy.

“’Sup?” a deep voice growled from above and to the left, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Jeb glanced up, meeting the gaze of Boney Pete.

He glanced back down to the table, where the picture of Boney Pete was sitting on top of the pile, ugly face grinning back at him from the Wanted poster.

This could be a problem.

Chapter 4: Survival Skills

“He’s the sheriff,” Jeb blurted, pointing at Zlesk.

Boney Pete glanced over at the skinny keegan while reaching for the bones in his hair.

Jeb took the opportunity to slip under the table.

Whoosh!

A monstrous femur longer than Jeb was tall swept through the back of his seat, treating the heavy wood like Styrofoam. Shrapnel clattered across the surface of the table above him, some of it sprinkling under the lip and peppering his clothes with sharp splinters of wood.

Coulda been my head, Jeb thought, shoving himself out from under the table and rolling in the direction of the lawman. Zlesk would stop the next swing. If not because he wanted to save Jeb’s life, then just because the next swing was now going to be directed towards him.

“Stop!” Zlesk shouted as Jeb crawled past him.

Jeb got a good look at Zlesk wrestling Boney Pete above him for control of the club before he was back up on his foot and clomping towards the door.

At this point, a stray punch or a careless shove might break Jeb’s spine, so SOP was to get the fuck out of Dodge while he still had his head attached to his body. He was about as well-equipped to handle this guy right now as a Tonka truck was equipped to haul freight.

“Later!” Jeb shouted over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

That was when he spotted Boney Pete mounted over the keegan. The orange-skinned criminal’s broad muscles were bulging as he forced a skewer of sharpened bone closer and closer to the skull-face’s eye.

Keegan weren’t known for their physical strength, and when two people had similar Body, the one with more actual muscle would come out stronger. Jeb watched the sheriff’s skeletal arms descend a fraction of an inch closer to his face, trembling all the while.

Everyone else in the room was either gawking or had already run off.

“Goddamnit,” Jeb growled, desperately wishing for his gun, which he’d left in storage outside the city. A man’s skull might be stronger than a .44 slug nowadays, but his brain would certainly feel it.

No such luck. Jeb’s gaze caught the empty space behind the bar, where the tender had the presence of mind to fuck off before things went down.

Usually, a bartender in a place like this keeps a weapon under the bar in case things turn sour. Jeb leapt over the bar, and ducked down, looking for anything he could whack with or throw.

The sleazy place didn’t disappoint. There was a solid iron rod about three feet long and sized a bit too big for Jeb’s fingers, resting in a holster that kept it secured to the bottom of the bar.

Jeb dragged it free, grunting at the weight as he leapt back over the wooden bar, doing his best impersonation of an Olympic athlete as he cleared the hurdle.

Unlike an Olympic athlete, Jeb’s wooden pegleg slipped from the sudden torque upon landing, sending him toppling to the ground, beatstick flailing out ahead of him.

The edge of the iron rod still managed to skim Boney Pete’s ear, partially tearing it off.

“Motherfucker!” Boney Pete shouted, clapping his hand to his ear and glaring at Jeb.

Jeb scrambled to his feet an instant before a sharpened bone hidden in Boney Pete’s clothing violently expanded outward in his direction, rebounding off Jeb’s beater and missing his liver by a couple inches.

Jeb scrambled backwards, and before Boney Pete could try again, a pale fist caught him in the jaw, scrambling his eggs for a moment as the skinny sheriff slipped out from beneath him, grabbing the outlaw’s arm on the way and twisting it out of its socket.

“Gah!”

Zlesk grabbed Boney Pete’s wrist and slammed it down on the floor, his hands pulsing briefly with Myst as he did so.

Jeb watched, intrigued as the sheriff rolled away from a retaliatory strike with another hidden bone splinter.

Boney Pete tried to stand, but his wrist wouldn’t come away from the floor. His inhuman strength made the wood slats under their feet buck for an instant before the pain of the dislocated arm caught up with him, sending him howling back to his knees.

“Club!” Zlesk said, holding his hand out. Jeb obliged, tossing the steel rod to the sheriff, who gave the outlaw one good blow to the head, deftly avoiding the man’s shiny black horns.

Boney Pete’s eyes rolled back into his head, and a moment later he exploded with dozens of sharpened bones, jutting in every direction like a demon porcupine as his shrinking Ability lapsed.

Jeb was far enough away, but Zlesk caught a couple of the spikes, soaking up the damage with his arms as he backed off.

This seems like as good a time as any to get the fuck outta here, Jeb thought, hopping toward the exit as Zlesk caught his breath, staring at the unconscious outlaw while clutching his bleeding arm, obviously riding that post-battle high. Jeb scooped up his prosthetic on the way out the door.

Jeb really didn’t have time to do the paperwork that would no doubt follow the brawl, and he was pretty sure Zlesk wasn’t going to give him the bounty anyway.

No, what he needed to do was move faster than word of Boney Pete’s arrest. Rather than try and pry information out of the guy, it