Andrev’s head was filled with the sickening crunch and creak as Kir severed the first of his five little horns. His entire life, Andrev had avoided touching them, looking at them, acknowledging they were even there. He’d never sensed cold or heat with them - they were like fingernails.
He’d never expected the pain.
Andrev thrashed, screaming and begging and pleading, clawing at Kir to make him stop, but he could feel something inside him curling up, shuddering, withdrawing. The earth beneath him roiled, and the sky turned black.
The other hunters watched.
“Four more to go,” the blonde woman said.
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