John, the boy who made the wench vomit onto his sweater, who wrote NOW IS THE TIME TO STRIKE BACK on the sidewalk where the Queen fell, who accidentally gave rise to the war-mongering Orks and mind-controlling Wenches, grabbed ahold of the woman’s arm. Angered, Kathy tore away and ran screaming for her sister.611Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHnivWNoLdC
“SARA!”611Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJQLZx8kiwj
Sara could only stare at the flaming arrow jut out of their father’s chest before Kathy grabbed her. Not knowing where to run in the city being razed to the ground, they saw John descend into a hole. Sewers were their only refuge. No beserk-wild Ork and no psychic wench would dare think to go beneath.
The commotion of war cries and blood-curdling screams seemed a distant nightmare. They heard rats now among echoing drips. Kathy and Sara followed John down a long bricked tunnel, steamy with trash and blood.611Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqSFhncGMSF
611Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKjfUmMjapJ
“Stop,” Sara begged.611Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUzpysd7mWq
John obeyed, but Kathy insisted they keep going.
They entered a lantern-lit library where street urchins huddled together, waiting for them. What is this? Kathy wondered, trying to avert from their soulless gazes. Her eyes watered and widened once they settled on their ornate royal brooches. They must be the Queen’s children...611Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwzk7OORfxn
611Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡglFJ7iK0Ou
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