Deflecting Lord of Loss' Spears

The claw reached, and I flew to put myself between the others and the hand. I'd block and fend it off-


The length of the arm hid a lance within it. It passed through a gap in the palm of the claw, thrusting toward me and toward the others. I used the Wretch to grab it, but the banding of white stone-like or metal-like strips ran along the length from tip to base, twisting it to give it a kind of rifling. Not something I or the Wretch could get a hold on.


Instead, while it skidded past me, scraping by the Wretch and numerous invisible, super-strong hands, I pushed it off course.


The lance dissolved. I had to maneuver to keep the strips from catching or slicing at me as they withdrew.


***


He might have read my mind, because he proved why I couldn't just leave him to his own devices- he reached out with a hand, as if to point. Again, the lance emerged from within, stabbing out, rotating as it emerged this time. A hundred feet long, and the tapering point closest to me was still thick enough I could have wrapped my arms around it, if I didn't have the Wretch to do it for me.


Again, to much less effect than the last time, I deflected the point. With the Wretch doing the heavy lifting, I was free to look back, seeing what he was aiming for.

***

In the movies or comics, sparks would have flown as the Wretch fought the rotation and force of the lance. Here, it was only movements of cold air, some collected ice and snow shedding and falling as a deceptively gentle rain to the street below.


He drew back, his entire body pulling away to help bring his lance far enough away that I wasn't embracing its length anymore.


He laughed. My expression behind my mask could have been stone.


I couldn't stop it. The next one would strike home. Every time he repeated himself, he was more forceful, more consistent.


- Blinding 11.7