The three surviving Artan adepts communicated the friar's location, and a scant second later that location was the intersection of three expanding spheres, each comprising several thousand sewing-needle-sized flechettes, produced by three RG 2253A antipersonal rifle grenades in simultaneous airbursts at an altitude of precisely 3.5 meters.
What remained of the friar wasnt recognizable as human.
I pull myself up to the lip of the fountain, and the limestone shivers with impacts of fragments and slugs and the air is alive with zips and zings and shreiks of jagged shrapnel and the handclap hypersonic pops of 50-caliber slugs: the open space above the fountain's lip is itself a predator, and its got my scent. I have looked death in the eye plenty of times, but this is different: it's random, unconcious. Unintentional.
Impersonal.
This is NOT my kind of fight.
--Blade of Tyshalle
Matthew Woodring Stover
tinyurl.com/8lhvt
What remained of the friar wasnt recognizable as human.
I pull myself up to the lip of the fountain, and the limestone shivers with impacts of fragments and slugs and the air is alive with zips and zings and shreiks of jagged shrapnel and the handclap hypersonic pops of 50-caliber slugs: the open space above the fountain's lip is itself a predator, and its got my scent. I have looked death in the eye plenty of times, but this is different: it's random, unconcious. Unintentional.
Impersonal.
This is NOT my kind of fight.
--Blade of Tyshalle
Matthew Woodring Stover
tinyurl.com/8lhvt