Free The Underground City by H. P. Mallory Page B

watch people doing those, I vomit a little in my mouth.”
    I shook my head. “You were totally reaching with that one, Bill.”
    “What?” he demanded, puffing out his chest in defense of his pride and acting like I was being completely unreasonable. “Reaching? What you talkin’ ’bout, Willis?”
    “Burpees and a vurp have nothing in common.”
    He frowned at me. “An’ tell me just how in the hell you would even know that? It’s not like you speak cool.”
    “Because I can figure it out!” I railed back at him. I was tired and sore so my temper had a very short leash. “A vurp clearly is a burp laced with vomit. And a burp laced with vomit has absolutely nothing to do with a burpee, aside from the fact that they rhyme.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “But nice try.”
    “Well excuse the shit outta me for makin’ a funny-ass joke even if it doesn’t meet Your Royal Hostess’s joke standards!” Bill said as he frowned at me.
    “It’s Royal Highness,” I corrected him. “Hostess makes Twinkies and Ding Dongs.”
    “Whatevs,” he mumbled as he rubbed his stomach. “What I wouldn’t do for a Twinkie.” Then he glanced up at Tallis who was still ahead of us by about ten feet and frowned. “I’m sick of eatin’ Shrek food.”
    I smiled and patted his arm in a feeble attempt to make amends. Then I took a deep breath and let it out, realizing I shouldn’t have jumped down Bill’s throat. Especially after he’d been a good friend and hung out in the front of the gym with nothing to do for two hours. “Sorry, Bill. I’m just really exhausted.”
    “It’s okay, sugar nipples,” Bill responded with a big grin, his hurt feelings suddenly forgotten which made me wonder if they were really ever genuine in the first place. “So you were saying the deadlift was the worst,” he started, clearly attempting to mend our little rift. “How come?”
    I smiled at him, grateful he was my friend and someone to keep me company in this godforsaken place because Tallis definitely wasn’t the sociable type. I sighed and tried to remember the worst part of my training. Ah, yes, the deadlifts …“Because it was so difficult to lift up the Intonker, and the thing looked scary as hell.”
    An Intonker was yet another species of demon. Somehow, and I imagined it was probably against Afterlife Enterprises policy, Ael managed to collect ten demons of different species. Some of the more domesticated ones, i.e., the Handrels, were allowed to roam somewhat freely inside the gym. Because Intonkers were, apparently, easily angered and possessed foul tempers in general, all three of them were hogtied and used for exercises like the deadlift. The only other type of demon I saw was tethered outside the gym. It was tied to a tree, but had a long enough rope to allow it to chase people, thereby improving their running speeds.
    As to the proper procedure for doing an Intonker deadlift, Ael ordered me to bend over with a straight back, then reach down and grab the ropes binding the creature before simply standing up again. But my grip on the ropes had to be wide enough that the demon couldn’t crane its neck around and sink its unlimited fangs into my arm.
    Unlike the Handrels, that were somewhat harmless since they could only take a small bite out of you, the Intonkers weren’t. They were much larger, about the size of a boar, and just as thick. They were the color of deep swamp water and the texture of their skin felt like rough leather. Their faces were the worst part about them—completely hideous. Their squarish heads had jaws that were very angular and pronounced, with exaggerated underbites. Their fleshy jowls hung all the way down to their necks, sort of resembling a bulldog’s muzzle, but only slightly. They certainly didn’t share any of the bulldog’s charm though. Their myriad, razor-sharp teeth protruded every which way, filling their mouths until they looked like they were sucking on a cluster of white