I saw what the little fiends were up to on my phone. Everyone in Saragun Springs has literal Free Will, we Do What thou Wilt in the Crowley tradition, which means I keep an eye on suspicious activities in the narratives of ongoing stories.

Still, I was a bit late to eliminate the Dung Catapult devised by Tam, Meena and Boaby. It existed and was armed and ready when I understood the intent of the thing. Moreover, being students at Lamb School they had built it correctly and knew enough about physics and geometry to deliver their payload to the Agoville stage (composed of mainly Sheep pellets, intended to disperse like fecal buckshot upon delivery, thus covering the attendees with crap).

In fact, they had already pulled the trigger, so to speak. But I was able to change the trajectory by typing: the shit ball unexpectedly went higher and higher and…

Thus a giant, speeding dark comet sped over the Agoville amphitheater stage; its shape was illuminated by the weird strobe light effect caused by Pong’s incessant peeking over the hills. It made a terrific zooming sound, which caused everyone to look up and watch it blaze past. Ping had to weave to the right to escape it and almost fell from the sky, but he caught himself on a cloud and drunkenly resumed his nightly course.

The comet landed with an audible, rancid splash, “boutta mile” away (as all things are in the Springs). It hit the Spring dead on and was accepted by the putrid waters with sinister gratitude. Then a giant glowing red-eyed, silver-gray demon rose from the spring, and, despite the alteration, the Lambs danced in its honor like drunken Shriners who had accidentally summoned Baal.

“Wha-what’s that?” Gwen asked, gazing at the apparition. It was your standard giant demon, capable of much Pazuzu-esque mischief if it were not safely tethered to the Spring.

“That? Ah, nothing,” I said. “We summon them all the time. It’ll get bored and disincorporate soon enough.”

End part Twelve