From between worm's countless fangs poured a deluge of the same black material that had splattered from its wounds. Sloan wrapped an arm around Winnipeg's waist and hurled her away. The tiny rigid body sailed across the atrium as if gravity no longer applied to it, which with Sloan's magic was close to the truth. At the same time her machine gun lifted from the ground and fired at the oncoming flood of vomit. The blast of light intercepted the liquid midway and atomized it in a bilious puff, but the venomous discharge only continued to flow, its volume too high for her gun to handle for long.

She backflipped to the top of the cabinets behind her and slid down the opposite end. The inky torrent splashed after her, drenching the whole shelf and any misfortunate imps who had not already vacated the premises but missing her by inches.

(Chapter 6)