The King of the Night Throne, ruler of an ancient undead empire, feared across ten millennia, was tangled in a net in front of his subjects.
His arms went through holes meant for his torso. His legs caught in loops meant for his arms. Every correction made the geometry worse.
A new section of mesh wrapped around his skull. His muffled commands came out garbled, half-vowel, the specific audio output of a predator whose jaw had been gift-wrapped by a girl who was still lying on the goddamn ground.
"GET— OFF— THIS— I WILL— WHEN I—"
The threats were unintelligible. The thrashing was producing a visual that was going to live in Gavriel Sterling's memory forever, rent-free, framed and mounted.
"He looks like a fish," Gavriel observed from his knees, blade still at his throat. "The ugliest, deadest fish I've ever seen."
