Chapter Twelve: A Sword for All Occasions
The chewtoy—an eyeball pickled into a rubbery consistency like a hardboiled egg—hurtled across the chamber, caromed off the back wall, rebounded from the floor, and sailed out the window.
Batsmasher followed, arms a-pendulum with barely contained joy. “Raaaaaggwwggh!” he gurgled as he flew through the window after his favorite toy and promptly vanished from sight in the pristine blue and fog. Plummeting.
“That never gets old,” Hellvetica said.
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