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John did not smile. He wanted to. He wanted very much to laugh like Fizz was laughing, but the eighth bell was still tolling. He could hear the clockwork in the tower winding toward the ninth. If he failed to check in, all of this — all the planning, all the revenge stuff, the vengeance, His future Harem. Fizz's future planning — would be wasted.
Brann's hand flicked again. Air lines lashed toward John, slicing for his chest. John didn't counter this time. He let the void inside him swell, pulling the force away, bending it, sucking it into his black hole palm. The air itself screamed as it vanished into the small black sphere. The stone at John's feet cracked like dry bread under a knife.
The three kidnappers froze.
