Such a shame I don’t really need this bastard anymore for the story.
He was still thinking that when the ratopus suddenly snapped its head in a vicious arc. He tried to block, but he was suddenly too slow, dammit. Any suspicions he might have had about why that might be were washed away when the ratopus whipped its fang-tipped tentacles across Razor-Claw’s face.
Decades of fighting the Dominion’s monsters had burned uncompromising reflexes on Razor-Claw’s nerves; he gritted his teeth through the sharp agony in his right eye and moved. Back, forward, it didn’t matter, to go was the thing. Did that mean colliding with a dresser, feeling the sharp pop of one old, weakened rib cracking under the sudden strain? Fine. Just as long as he bounced back.
The ratopus didn’t expect Razor-Claw to leap forward, roaring. That was the one weakness Dominion monsters had. They were terror weapons, used to horrify the meek and commit atrocities on the foolish; there was always that impulse to preen and menace. If you didn’t give a shit about getting hurt, you could hurt one of the filthy things, too.
The 2023 Mondays seem extra strong.
Mew