But then, what were the Vyeah but the dark parts of every fairy story since the war? Like any other heroine, our Myassa had been raised up on tales of monsters cast down in defeat by those who were clever enough to keep their heads in times of trial.

But our heroine had more than a level head swaddled in black cloth. Our girl was not like those heroes–and we must say heroes, children, because the only women in Myassa’s tales were wives, mothers, and the occasional schoolmarm. The girl had a M885 automatic marksman rifle with the optional electric ignition and sabot ammunition, a tool that any dragon-slaying prince would envy.

The first Vyaeh that entered the kill-box that our heroine had expertly marked out was ushered from this world into the next before it even heard a sound.

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