Genesis looked like a cartoon caricature of a sumo wrestler, grotesquely obese and yellow skinned with eyes like black buttons.
That’s a bit racist, Genesis.
She was hairless, unclothed and sexless, and her skin was translucent and oily.
She sounds like a mixture of a gorilla and Gregor.
Through the skin, I could make out the vague figure of Shatterbird, pounding on the walls of the stomach, her mouth opening in a scream that didn’t reach us.
Pfft! That’s certainly one way to capture her!
Glass shards were stirring around her, a blender whir cutting at the insides of Genesis’s belly.
They presumably thought of that and made sure she could make a glass-proof stomach.
“She’s going to cut through,” I said. “Bitch, Regent, get the chains. I’ll try to stop her.”
Or, maybe not?
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