Godlings pig farm 3:27 Am
I was out of bullets so I was swinging like a maniac. My revolvers smashed into soft pinkish mutant flesh. It made gross "splurching" sounds when the butts pulled away from skull and skin.
My arms were tired. Beyond tired. Now I can forgive myself. I was, after all, just blown up.
I glanced over at Tiny, he looked more man then machine. Years of Trick or Treat Spy training and muscle memory transforming him into a whirling dervish of blades and front kicks.
I couldn't see Eathan, but the gnawing and tearing sounds told me he was still standing. Still destroying. Despite the fact it was almost always evil, at least more evil than him anyway, I always felt bad for anything that got within arms length of the angry clown.
I tried to stay focused, but my thoughts kept going towards the blasts of the fire that were bellowing over the trees in the direction of our home.
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