First, his legs extend, a swarm of writhing snakes forming. Then his wings spread, growing in size proportionate to his expanding chest.
His eyes become reptilian, and every exhalation he makes is filled with heat that promises to turn into fire.
Within seconds, he’s ten feet tall.
I’ve barely turned toward him when he snatches me off the ground, his left hand and lengthening claws closing around my torso as he pulls me up to his eye level.
He is as terrifying as he was in Vanguard’s memories, but all the uglier for his intentions.
“You have beautiful eyes, Fury,” he says, squinting at me. “I will take them instead.”
Instead of what, I’m not sure.
All I know is that I have to fight back.
My whip is crushed to my side within his grip, but my snakes are free, darting from the strands of my hair and sinking their fangs into his fingers.
He hasn’t yet grown to his original massive size, so I can only hope that he hasn’t yet regained all of his power.
He barely flinches as my snakes strike. “Your poison will have no effect on me now, Fury, but you are feisty. I like that.”
With his right hand, he reaches for my face, one claw angled toward my left eye as if he plans to scoop it right out of my head.
At the same time, his thumb and pinkie curve around my throat as though he will use them to strangle me.
I struggle to get away from him, kicking and scratching and fighting with all my might.
“I will crush you, pretty Fury,” he croons, the claws he aims for my eye scraping my cheek. “I will squeeze the life out of you as slowly as I like.”
I thrash as hard as I can, striking with my snakes as hard as I can, but there’s nothing I can do to stop Typhon’s hand from closing around my throat.
33. PEYTON PRICE
Idrag in a desperate breath as Typhon’s fingers close around me, suddenly aware of how much his hand smells like Striker’s blood.
That furious hellhound blood that Striker once transfused into me to revive me and keep me alive. It was like lava pulsing through my body, heating me from the inside out, burning my inhibitions and, with them, my fears.
All these months since I became a full Fury, I’ve exercised the clinical ability to see the world around me in black and white, a painting whose parts were separated only by good and bad.
Since entering the maze… even before that… maybe from the moment I saw Striker again and his joy had hit me hard… other emotions have emerged.
The best is peace, but the worst is fear, and yet, what I feel now is anger.
Not vengeful anger. Not righteous wrath.
No, this is a purely selfish rage that makes me want to lash out because my future has been stolen from me.
What did Striker whisper to me?
Never let anyone silence you.
Well… I have a sliver of air, and I’m going to use it.
“Fuck you!” I scream even as Typhon’s hand presses against my throat. “Fuck you for giving up! Fuck you for letting go of your rage.Fuck you, Striker Draven!”
Typhon’s claws stop tightening, and he blinks at me because clearly my rage is not aimed at him, and oh, he’s so fucking narcissistic that it shocks him.
“Fuck you for leaving me,” I scream.
