XXI.

While Gimel was walking through the living room, Shaw was in another room trying to comprehend why someone would decorate their walls with pictures of rotting fruit, demolished buildings, umbrellas, and airplanes. In the corner, there was a bed made of red metallic goop that resembled dried up taffy.

What kind of weird bitch lives here?

He had a chain in each hand, swinging them slowly so the hooks would be ready to carve into flesh at a moment’s notice.

There were slobbering sounds coming from the next room so Shaw walked slowly, one hook swinging behind his head. As he walked through the doorway, something fell from above and covered his head like a Halloween mask. He couldn’t see and could barely breathe.

“Shit!” he said, dropping one of the chains and grabbing at whatever was wrapped around his head. His fingers dug into soft, gritty flesh. It wasn’t working. Shaw started biting at it, grinding the flesh between his teeth until he felt air on his tongue.

He dropped the other chain and used two hands to rip the thing off him. Before another could drop on him, he grabbed both chains and looked at what he’d thrown off. It was a giant sugarplum.

On the floor, the fruit was torn apart but still trembling with life. It resembled road kill and Shaw almost felt bad for it. Then he looked up. The entire ceiling was covered in giant, bulbous sugarplums.

Some were hairy. Some had tiny legs. Some were on fire. Each of them seemed to be staring at Shaw even though they possessed no eyes.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Shaw said. He swung one of his chain hooks over his head and let it go in the direction of the sugarplums. They scattered like roaches as the hooks cut into several of them.

The sugarplums that were hit fell to the ground, wounds gaping multicolored blood and fruit viscera. The scurrying survivors flew into the air and surrounded Shaw as he swung his second chain hook over his head. A sugarplum with an appendage that resembled an axe flew directly at him, but Shaw managed to duck just in time. He swung his weapon and managed to hit a dozen more, sending chunks everywhere.

One of those chunks landed right in Shaw’s mouth and slid down his throat.

“Goddamnit!” he said, nearly choking. It only took a few seconds for it to take effect.

As he stared at the room full of sugarplums, the colors grew brighter until everything was overly saturated. The walls turned to liquid, the sugarplums turned to fiery monster faces, and furniture made of chicken legs appeared in the middle of the room. A table shook, the grains in the wood cracking to form a mouth. It said, “Come have a seat, have a seat, have a seat.”

Shaw closed his eyes. Using only his instinct, he swung both chain hooks while spinning in a circle, hoping to kill each and every sugarplum or talking piece of furniture in the room.

He felt his hooks hit things but couldn’t tell what they hit. Finally, he dropped to the floor in exhaustion. “Just fucking kill me,” he said. He felt a sugarplum crawl onto his face and fart, sending poison gas down his throat.

The Elf Piercer was dead.