“Wow,” said the priest just before he punched Thal in the face. “I’ve never hit a god before.”
Suspended spread-eagle from the ceiling by chains, Thal stared blankly at the scrawny priest. He wasn’t the first person to enter the white chamber with the intention of striking him; he wasn’t even the first priest to do so.
In the months since Casey and the others had beaten him half to death and sold him to the man who kept him here, a seemingly endless parade of people from all walks of life had walked through the door and used him as a punching bag.
Usually, they told him why they did it. A lot of them were still angry because he’d lost the World Series for the Bio Threats. Some were fans of other teams, avenging his victories over their favorites. Some had lost money betting on game
