chapter seven
See You in the Abyss
A thump from above woke Ayla from a dreamless slumber. In the dark, it took a moment to remember where she’d fallen asleep, but the soft bed and smell of sewer reminded her. Light filtered between the gaps of the warped door to the main room.
She stretched, and one of the other beds creaked, accompanied by a yawn. The door to the dining room flew open, filling the sleeping quarters with dim lamplight. Alex came in and leaned to the side under the short ceiling. Ayla sat up.
“What’s going on?”
Alex pounded his fist on the open door. “Max, Blabbermouth, Get up!”
Max sat up, still dressed and wearing boots from his guard shift.
Blabbermouth threw off his blanket, and Alex kicked a tunic off the floor at him.
“They’re coming,” Alex said, headed back out of the door. “Let’s go.”
Ayla got dressed, not knowing how long she slept. Underground, she had no sense of time.
Blabbermouth followed Alex out first, smacking himself on the cheeks to wake up.
Max walked out next and flashed her an exaggerated smile. “G’morning, Priestess."
“Shut up, Max,” Ayla said, finished tying her boots, and followed him out.
In the next room, Alex and Blabbermouth shoved a table against the squat door that led to the stairs to the temple. Max dragged another table into the aisle. Blabbermouth and Alex lifted it together.
“They’re clearing out the storage room,” Alex told her without looking up. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
They flipped the second table atop the first two, wedging it against the door. “I just can’t figure out how they found us.”
Ayla’s hand went to her medallion. “They’re in the temple?”
Max dragged another table into the aisle, legs scraping along the uneven floor. He shooed Ayla back.
Alex flexed his fingers and shook them before grabbing one end. “I told you, it's a storage room now.”
Ayla stared past him, at the door. Rage welled up within her, like icy water in her gut. The temple in the forest was a place of miracles and even as a ruin, inspired awe. The cursed half-beasts were stinking up her Mother’s home like a barn. Their gall turned Ayla’s upper lip to a sneer.
“Shitting in your bed doesn’t make it an outhouse,” she said.
Alex paused. “What?”
“It’s still a temple, it doesn’t matter how it’s being used.”
Blabbermouth rapped on the table and then tapped his foot on the floor. Back to work, it said.
Alex told Blabbermouth to wait with a raised finger, then met Ayla’s gaze. “Why does it matter?”
The smell of the Goddess’s breath lingered in Ayla’s nostrils. “My Mother’s angry.”
Blabbermouth threw up his hands. So?
Ayla fixed Blabbermouth with her gaze. Wisps of darkness, like smoke, clouded the edges of her vision. He took a step back, tripped on a pew, and sat in it with a thump. Max moved behind a table.
Ayla sneered at Blabbermouth and spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t disrespect my Mother.”
Blabbermouth shook his head and held up his hands.
More hoofsteps came from overhead, not far from the barricaded door. Alex stepped into Ayla’s peripheral, his face obscured by her dark tunnel vision. A quiet seething anger rose into her cheeks.
He watched her as if he’d just stumbled upon a dangerous animal. “Love the eyes. It’s a good look for you. Wanna hear my plan?”
Ayla waited silently, not the least bit amused.
Alex cleared his throat again and gestured to the pile of tables. “We barricade, and leave. Only one problem.” He lifted his chin at the secret hatch, opposite the door to the bed quarters. “We’ve got about seven or eight Furless in the canal waiting for us. It’s gonna be a fight in a three-foot tunnel.”
Ayla’s brow furrowed. “Furless?”
Max filled her in, looking at the secret entrance to avoid her eyes. “Human traitors. Loyal to the Cows.”
Ayla turned toward the hatch. Alex only lit a few of the lamps, leaving deep shadows in the underground room. She lifted her chin at the entrance to the canal.
“Let them in.”
Blabbermouth’s eyes opened wide and he got to his feet shaking his head.
Alex signaled him to stop and lifted one eyebrow at her. “They’re not just gonna walk in. But we can try.” He came away from the pile of tables and back into the aisle. Alex signaled Max to go and open the door and he obeyed.
Alex flicked his wrist. The hidden short bow on his forearm sprung open, throwing apart his sleeve. An arrow clicked out of the sheath on the arm at his side and slid down between his fingers.
Ayla shook her head. “No weapons. Just let them in.”
Blabbermouth headed toward Ayla. She gave him another look and he stopped.
Max threw the crossbar and pulled the metal handle. The stone door cracked open and the stink of sewer wafted in. The few lit lanterns around the room flickered. Max backed away and stood behind Ayla.
Alex positioned himself at her side. Their eyes met. Ayla acknowledged his fears with a short nod. Muffled hoofsteps hurried on the floor above as they waited.
The Furless in the canal exchanged hushed words. The sound of grinding stone filled the crypt as someone in the canals pushed the door open farther. Ayla stared at the door, the darkness still in her periphery. Lantern light passed through the opening.
Blabbermouth covered his face with his hands.
More hushed words came from outside as a foot stepped down onto the floor. A man entered, using the stone hatch for cover.
Ayla rolled her eyes and gestured to the Freemen. “These men won't attack you, just come in.”
A scowling older man straightened in the entryway. He kept his grey hair short and wore a metal breastplate over a brown tunic and pants. He fit under the six-foot ceiling, but his hair brushed it. One hand held a longsword out to his side.
“You surrender?” he asked.
Alex looked at Ayla and she laughed without mirth.
“No.”
He half turned back to the door, his armor reflecting the lamplight. “I got nine men out here, armed to the teeth.”
Ayla smiled again and spoke with deliberate calm. “Then tell your men to come in. There are enough seats for everyone.”
“They will be just fine right out here.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “All we need to do is hold you. The guards will be down here in a few minutes.”
“What is your name?” Ayla asked; focused, ignoring the hurried hoofsteps above.
“Dylan, Captain of the Hornstall Human Guard,” the Furless replied.
“You don’t need to hold us here,” Ayla approached him, whispering the prayer.
The Furless pointed his longsword at her. “Stay put.”
Ayla’s voice vibrated the air. “Dylan, put it down.”
The Furless leader dropped it to the floor. He looked down at the weapon, confused, and mumbled a curse under his breath. Ayla walked over to him. His gaze went to the symbol of Ayla’s Mother on her chest, then back to her eyes.
The color drained from his face. He shook his head, as if denying who she was. The Mother’s breath filled her lungs, burning like smoke. She put a hand over her chest, eyes watering, and exhaled.
Her Mother’s ire vacated her body through her mouth in a billowing cloud of black smoke. The Furless leader recoiled from it and stumbled into the open hatch, coughing. The smoke curled into tendrils and rode the air into his nose and mouth.
His breath caught in his throat and he choked. He leaned over, and put his hands on his thighs, wheezing. A drop of blood hit the floor at his feet. Breath rattled in his chest. He dropped to his knees, face blotched with fever and blood dripping from his nose. One hand went to his throat as it swelled a grotesque blue-black. He closed his eyes, muttering incoherently. His body swayed, ready to fall.
Ayla knelt down with him in the dim lamplight. A swell of pity in her heart replaced her mother’s icy rage. She understood her Mother’s anger with him, but Ayla could not let the man suffer such a horrible death. Yes, he betrayed his people and his God, but he was as much a slave as any human. A uniform didn’t change that.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. He shied away, but she held firm. Her voice returned to normal and filled with compassion.
“So many have forgotten Her - betrayed Her. But She has returned to free us. If you
beg…” She squeezed his arm. “The Goddess might spare you.”
Sweat dotted his brow. His breath caught again, and he choked. Ayla rubbed his back until the fit passed.
Alex leaned over them from the side, his palm on the ceiling. She gave him a look, suggesting that he shouldn’t interrupt. Another thump upstairs and his eyes widened. Hurry up, they said.
Ayla lifted the grey haired man’s chin with two fingers. His eyes had glossed over, and he almost fell backward. Holding him up, she whispered soothingly.
“I’ll show you. Put your hands under your chin, like this,” she said and demonstrated.
He lifted his hands, stopped halfway, then committed. He broke down into sobs, tears, and drops of blood falling into his cupped hands.
Ayla smiled at him. “Good. Now repeat after me.”
A loud bang from up above made everyone jump.
Max spoke from over by the barricade. “They’re practically at the door.”
Ayla ignored him as she recited the prayer with her eyes closed. The grey haired man echoed her as best as he could manage, crying like a child.
Halfway through the words, he stopped and begged. “I'm so sorry. Please. I didn’t know.”
Ayla finished the prayer for him, but when she opened her eyes, his condition remained unchanged. Her Mother promised to always answer Ayla’s prayers, though this time, she said ‘no’. Ayla clenched her teeth.
“Mother...”
She sensed her mother’s unwillingness to lift his affliction. The Goddess’ desire for his soul to join her in the Abyss compelled Ayla to let him die. He deserved to die, but she needed him to get out of here alive.
Dylan coughed, choked, and cried. Hooves stomped on the floor above.
Ayla prayed again. “… and begs humbly, please Mother. I need him to help me escape.”
The Goddess relented. Dylan took a sharp breath and lifted his head, his back arched. His throat shrank, and its color returned to normal. Tears rolled down his cheeks as the red in his eyes receded.
Ayla held his face until he came back to her. Once she had his eyes, she tightened her grip. “My Mother has spared you, so you can help us escape. Do you understand?”
He gave a tight nod in her grip.
“Good,” Ayla said, and shoved him back onto his rear. “Mercy has its limits for traitors.”
He sniffled, and touched his throat with his fingertips. Max stepped over to him, hauled the older man up by the armpits and looked him in the eye.
“Lead your men back out to the moat. Tell them we have a witch.”
Ayla glared at Max, who refused to meet her eye. She met the Furless leader’s instead. “I'm not a witch, I'm a Priestess.”
Dylan nodded and removed himself from Max’s grip. The lantern light in the canal passed over the open door. Alex stepped between the man and Ayla and shoved him towards the open passage. “I don't care what you tell them. Just lead them back toward the moat.”
The man fixed a scowl on Alex then swallowed when his gaze returned to Ayla.
She pointed out the passage. “Go.”
He retrieved his sword and headed for the hatch. Ducking his head under, he yelled, “Run! It’s a witch!” He climbed out, and his voice boomed in the canal outside.
“Back to the moat! Run!”
The men clamored in the tunnel, shouting.
“I said, move!”
Something heavy slid on the floor above the dining area. Alex crept over to the hatch, head turned to listen. He peered out the door, then waved for her to follow him.
“All clear. Let’s go.”
Alex crawled out to the right, and she joined him as Max and Blabbermouth climbed out into the dark sewer. She whispered ahead to Alex, hidden in the dark beyond the open hatch.
“Where do we go?”
Alex crawled along the narrow ledge, deeper into the sewer. Rats squeaked and skittered up ahead.
“The arena,” he said, voice echoing through the tunnel.
Ayla assumed Alex was leading them towards another exit, not into the center of Hornstall. “Why?”
Max chimed in behind her. “Because they’re gonna have all the moat exits covered now.”
Alex whispered from up ahead. “Right turn.”
Ayla turned the corner with one hand on the wall. She reached out with the other, encountering Alex’s back and he crawled forward, sweeping something from the ledge into the muck.
“One of us got caught on a supply run at the mill two years ago. They kept him to fight in the arena. I visit him all the time.”
“Why just visit? Why not get him out?” Ayla said as she crawled behind him.
Max answered from behind in the pitch black sewer. “If Butch disappeared, Hornstall would be crawling with guards. We normally try to avoid that.”
Ayla ignored his tone. “So why are we visiting Butch now?”
Alex answered: “If we’re leaving Hornstall, he’s coming with us. Besides, the guards won't be looking for us there. If anyone has a better idea, speak up.”
No one did. Even Max kept his cynicism to himself. With each turn, the smell - like a dead animal in an outhouse - got worse. By the third turn, Ayla had her tunic up over her nose. The buzzing of flies ahead hummed in the canal like a beehive. The fourth turn brought them to a section of ceiling that rose straight up twenty feet. They all stretched their backs and stood on the end of the slippery walkway.
Piles of excrement, like stalagmites on a cave floor, stood as tall as Ayla’s waist, each in their own halo of light from above. The room vibrated with the constant drone of innumerable flies. They collided with Ayla’s face and arms on their urgent way to nowhere. The smell came right through the tunic Ayla held over her face. She gagged and looked up. Flickering shafts of orange light shone down into the canal from a dozen holes above. Flies zipped through the light, to and fro, in a dizzying dance of chaos.
Alex rested his hand on a narrow metal ladder rung built into the wall, to the side of the latrines. The rungs continued up the full twenty feet, each one only wide enough for a single foot or hand. He crossed his lips with his finger and whispered.
“This is the gladiator’s staging area. There are guards up there.”
Ayla nodded, nose pinched under her tunic. She checked behind her for Max, silent for once, and Blabbermouth. They held their tunics over their noses and mouths. Only Alex seemed unfazed.
A sound built in the walls and came down through the latrine. Ayla strained her ears to make sense of it.
“Is that-”
“Cheering,” Max whispered through his tunic, eyes watering. “There’s a Bull-show today.”
Ayla waved flies away from her face. “What’s that?”
Alex shook his head and swatted the air as he moved to climb the ladder in the dirty cobblestone wall. “You don't want to know.”
Ayla fumed. She looked up to the underside of the latrine as the cheering rose again. Her voice came above a whisper. “What is it?”
Alex took his foot off the rung, and patted the air with his hands, telling her to lower her voice. “It’s the punishment when a woman kills a minotaur.”
Ayla grabbed her holy symbol with both hands. Deetra. The coincidence made it impossible for Ayla to believe it could be anyone else. If everyone knew about the show, then she would have arrived before Ayla did. She remembered the wagon that passed her on the road.
“What woman? What’s her name???
?
Alex shrugged like he didn't care, and Ayla almost pushed him into one of the piles as she reached for the ladder. The wagon she hid from the day before had come from Hillside - Deetra’s escort to the arena. Ayla was sure of it.
“Damn it,” Alex said.
Ayla reached the top, and the underside of the latrine seats. The crowd cheered again. The seat was covered in filth, but Ayla didn't care. She slammed her palm against it, throwing it open. It landed on the stone floor of the room above with a loud bang.
The latrine consisted of one long rectangular room with the same brick as the keep walls, with a long elevated seat for relieving bladders and bowels. A narrow doorway stood empty on one side. She climbed out of the seat and waited for Alex.
He stuck his head out like a gopher, looked around, and then pulled himself the rest of the way out. Ayla didn’t wait for him to ask questions. She left the latrine and wandered into the torch lit hall.
To the right, a locked wrought iron gate blocked a long curved hallway that arced out of sight. To the left, the hall opened up to a large rectangular room with a sand-covered floor. On the opposite end of that room stood a closed portcullis to the arena battleground.
Five men lined the walls that led to the portcullis, guarded by a single minotaur. An Orc stood at the front, flanked by two minotaurs at his sides. The Orc, thick-muscled as any of the half-beasts, stood as tall as their chin. An iron collar rested around the bottom of his neck. Chains were affixed to iron hoops on either side of it. The links curved up to shackles on his wrists as he held the portcullis bars.
Ayla could make out the voice of the Arena Master, but few actual words. He said something about a murderer. The crowd murmured their disapproval. He said something else, and the words, ‘Bull-show.’
The Orc turned away from the portcullis with a shake of his head and rattle of his chains. He saw Ayla, and his eyes shifted over her shoulder to the latrine behind her. With a wide-eyed warning and a glance to the half-beasts, he turned back to the portcullis, his posture tense.
It was Butch, it had to be. Alex should have mentioned the part about his race. Ayla had never once seen an Orc, much less talked to one. It made sense to keep him for the arena. He made a fearsome champion.
Ayla marched into the ready room, stopped amidst the chains, and cupped her hands under her chin. Ayla spoke the first word of the prayer as the next cheer roared past the gate. The nearest minotaur turned around, hocks grinding the sand. His angry voice rumbled in his chest.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Ayla kept her head bowed, praying.
“…your daughter is in need, and begs humbly…”
Feet shuffled on sand, and chains jingled. Another minotaur’s voice said, “Grab her,” and Ayla opened her eyes.
“For power over our enemies.”
The minotaur approached her with a scourge at his side. The hum of flies from the bathroom grew louder. The barbed hooks at the short whip’s ends jingled as he lifted it.
The buzzing invaded the room in a serpentine swarm. The minotaur flailed at the swarm with the scourge. The flies found his eyes and open mouth. The half-beast sputtered and spit as he turned, swiping through the almost solid mass of insects with his weapon.
The spring of Alex’s bow carried over the humming, followed by Alex’s voice.
“Priestess, get down!”
Ayla ducked. The bow twanged and an arrow appeared in the minotaur’s chest, just below the throat. The scourge dropped from his hands and he stumbled a step back with a hiss. The flies separated into two streams, surging towards the other two minotaurs.
Ayla raised her voice as she moved away, back toward the bathroom. The crowd in the arena hollered and cheered for some unseen event.
“The Goddess of the Night has returned! The Freemen’s time has come!”
The human men and Butch exchanged looks. The flies hummed in the other two beasts’ faces. Butch’s orange eyes met Ayla’s for an instant. He kicked one the minotaur’s legs as it swatted and bellowed, flies swarming its mouth. It tripped flat on its face on the sand-covered stone floor. He hooked fingers into his mouth digging out flies, choking.
The other minotaur, blinded by the insects, charged at Ayla, head down. She ran for the bathroom.
Max and Blabbermouth ran out from the latrine doorway. Max flipped a dagger over Ayla’s head to the guard behind her. The minotaur guard bellowed close enough behind her that his breath tossed Ayla’s short hair. Blabbermouth ran at Ayla. He tackled her to the ground and rolled her to the side. The hit took her breath away. The guard tripped over their legs and he chased his balance for a few steps.
Behind Ayla, the other men yelled and taunted. The sound of a breaking bone cracked through the room, followed by a bovine moan.
She turned in Blabbermouth’s arms on the floor to look, gasping for air. The men kicked and stomped a fallen minotaur. The other beast lay on the floor, twitching, a cobblestone embedded in the back of his horned skull. Flies crawled all over the wound.
Butch ran in her direction. The Orc leapt over her and Blabbermouth and onto the back of the beast that tripped on them. He held it by the horns and wrestled it like a bull rider as it stood back up.
Alex fired a shot into its chest from the doorway. Max ran up and stabbed it in the abdomen with another dagger. The minotaur took an awkward swing at him. Max ducked, withdrew the dagger and plunged it deep again. The minotaur dropped to its knees as the flies dissipated.
Butch dismounted as he twisted the minotaur’s neck by the horns with a grunt of effort. Its neck snapped, and its body lurched in a death throe as it dropped forward onto its face.
Blabbermouth released her, and Ayla coughed as she caught her breath and stood. Insects buzzed all over the room, but most had made their escape through the gate.
She grabbed Butch by his muscled green arm and turned him to face her. He spun around with a scowl, then relaxed once he saw her. His breath still heaved from the fight.
Metal clangs rang out in the arena in rapid succession – a rising gate. The hum of the crowd outside, ever present, rose to a cheer once more.
“What?” The Orc asked, folding his heavy green arms.
Ayla had only one question: “Where is she?”
Butch pointed out the closed gate with disgust written on his heavy features.
“The Bull-show just started.”
A woman screamed.
Ayla ran to the gate. She held the bars and looked out into the sandy, overflowing arena. The crowd consisted of hundreds of humans with minotaur guards and officials interspersed throughout the full two floors of elevated seating. The portcullis Ayla held onto was one of two opposing entrances to the arena floor.
A woman in a work dress, with short, sandy blonde hair like a marigold, ran from a beast far on the other side from where Ayla watched. The beast wore no kilt and gave chase with his naked manhood exposed.
Ayla screamed at the top of her lungs.“Deetra!”
The minotaur caught up to Deetra and pushed her down into the sand. Deetra rolled away, but he stood over her, menacing and taunting her. She kicked out at his crotch but missed.
Ayla gave the heavy iron bars a futile shake. “Open this! Now! DEETRAA!”
Alex pried Ayla's hands off the gate and held them. “You can't save her! We have to go, now!”
Ayla snatched her hands away from him. Deetra screamed from the arena floor and the crowd cheered. Ayla turned to look but Alex grabbed her again, by the shoulders.
“We have time to run, but only if we leave now!”
“Get off of me!” Ayla slapped Alex in the mouth. He recoiled and held a hand where she hit him. Ayla pushed him by the chest and accused the other men in the ready room with her eyes.
“Open it.”
Butch pushed between the others and shoved Alex out of the way.
“You heard the Priestess.”
Ayla eyed him as he bent at the knees. He gri
pped the bottom bar of the portcullis and rolled his shoulders to ready himself.
“My people are still loyal to the Night Goddess.”
The other men lined up on either side of him.
Ayla gave Alex a stern look. “Are mine?”
He shook his head, defeated, and took his place next to Butch. “We’re gonna die.”
Ayla checked the arena. Deetra crab-crawled on her back, scooting away from her attacker, then found a stone on the ground and threw it from her prone position. It struck the naked minotaur under the eye. He roared, and the crowd let out a collective melodramatic gasp. Deetra scrambled to her feet. The beast rubbed his furry, bovine cheek, and stalked after her, hocks pushing deep into the sand.
The men strained with a unanimous grunt. The gate came up a couple of inches and fell back down.
Alex hissed and shook his hands. “It’s no good. It’s locked. Each gate has a Gatemaster above it that controls the winch. It won’t open from in here.”
Ayla placed her hand on Butch’s wide back. She whispered the prayer. The words came out fast. She hoped the Goddess would understand she meant no disrespect. There was no time for ceremony.
“... for the Night Goddess to give him strength.”
His muscles swelled, veins bulging. Butch’s body shook with effort as he spat and sputtered, fighting to lift. The gate came up. Something metal snapped, and it flew open. The men cheered, but Ayla already ran under the spiked bottom of the portcullis.
The crowd stood up in their seats, applauding the added festivities as the Gladiators chased Ayla out into the battleground. Even the guards cheered, thinking it all part of the show.
Butch shouted orders behind her. “Alex, cover me. The rest of you, cover the other gate!”
The naked beast saw them and broke off his attack on Deetra. Butch and Alex passed Ayla as they raced toward the scene in the sand ahead of them and the naked minotaur looked at the oncoming men, confused. His brown fur shone gold in the late morning sun.
Deetra jumped up from the ground with another rock in her hand.
Alex stopped twenty yards away, halfway between Ayla and Deetra. He lifted his arm, nocked an arrow in his wrist-bow, and fired. The arrow hit the beast in the abdomen and he bellowed, hunching over the wound in his belly. Hand on the protruding arrow, he turned back for the north portcullis with a heavy limp. Deetra’s rock slammed into the side of his head.
The Orc caught up to him and leapt onto his back. Deetra ran in Ayla’s direction across the golden sand of the arena floor. Lash wounds from a whip striped her shoulders and neck.
“Ayla?”
Her name from Deetra’s lips put any doubts to rest. Her prayers on the road answered, she met Deetra in the middle of the arena floor. Deetra’s face had swelled on one side, her cheek battered blue, but her eyes held the same wonder Ayla felt.
Somewhere in another world, Butch hollered a victory cry over a silent crowd. Ayla caressed her friend’s cheek with her fingertips and pushed back a lock of sun-bleached hair tipped in red.
“Did he touch you?”
Deetra’s eyes flooded and she shook her head.
Ayla swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Deetra wrapped her arms around Ayla. Ayla turned her face up, and their lips met. What Ayla intended as a simple kiss hello, deepened to something more. Her hands dropped to Deetra’s hips as Deetra leaned into her, breathless. Murmurs spread through the crowd, as if deciding on a reaction. A moment later, they erupted in a deafening cheer.
For all the ways Ayla envisioned the moment she saw Deetra again, she never imagined this. The familiar smell of Deetra’s skin intoxicated her. Her knees weakened, but Deetra held her up.
“SILENCE!” The Master of the Arena’s guttural voice thundered over the crowd, interrupting Ayla’s reunion.
The crowd obeyed before the echo of the Master’s voice faded. Deetra broke the embrace, leaving Ayla to recover on her own. She took a step to regain her balance, and the Arena Master yelled again.
“Everyone remain in your seats! Guards to the arena floor!”
The Gladiators had taken up a position at the remaining gate. The ready room they came from stood unguarded, but the inner gate to the hall remained locked. Alex and Butch stood guard on either side of her and Deetra.
Minotaurs shuffled and pushed their way between the arena seats, filtering toward the stairs in the wide center aisles. The gladiators backed away from their posts as minotaurs appeared behind the closed gate.
Alex lifted his chin. “I should have died last night, but I think I like this way better,” he said, and checked his wrist sheath of modified arrows. The release clicked a couple of times - empty. Collapsing the bow, he said, “Thank you.”
Butch smiled at her with a terrifying underbite. “See you in the Abyss.”