Death on the Docks by Scott Story – Part IX – Copyright 2008 Story Studios LLC. All rights reserved.
Decorum did not see the bomb coming. Rather, she saw Detective Buchanan and his remaining two men leap from their cover behind the crates and run, hell-bent for leather. When she turned to see what had spurred them to flight, the silver ball that had so recently mounted Dr. Synn’s cane rolled under Bombastic and Shadowcowl.
The shining sphere, an incredibly powerful explosive that made symtex seem like a firecracker in comparison, blew a huge chunk of concrete out of the dock, exposing the wooden pilings and waters below. At nearly a thousand pounds per square inch of overpressure, the tiny bomb had the equivalent force of the U.S. Military’s so called “Daisy Cutter.” Bombastic was blown twenty feet into the air, a flaming missile that crashed nearby. Shadowcowl’s cloak was blown to shreds.
Later, Decorum could not be sure how she survived the blast. As best as she could figure, Bombastic had absorbed much of the energy that would have ripped the flesh from her bones. She came to quickly, bleeding from her eyes, mouth, nose, and ears, and where the blast hit her she was bruised uniformly blue-black, even through her clothing. She did not feel the pain, yet, but she knew that when it came she would feel as if a truck had hit her, again, and again, and . . .
“Dennis!” She called after Shadowcowl—at least she thought she cried out, but, having been struck stone deaf by the blast, she could not be sure.
Decorum found Shadowcowl nearby. Where the magic cowl was still whole, his body was apparent. Where the cowl was ripped, he was transparent. The cowl was shredded, and so was Dennis. Decorum saw Shadowcowl shudder, expelling a wheezing breath, and then what was left of Dennis Fulchres was gone. All that was left to mark his passing were blackened rags.
“No,” whispered Decorum, “no…”
