DEATH (The Justice Cycle Book 1) by J Kiefer (best classic books to read TXT) 📗

looked like straw. Jared, however, made up for his unruly hair by being slightly more muscular than Steve.

Jared loved his brother and he couldn’t help but smile slightly as they walked. The mere presence of his younger brother made everything seem better. He had always envied his ability to project absolute confidence. Charismatic and loved by almost everyone he met, Steve was everything Jared was not.

They talked as they walked, the way only brothers can, and before long they arrived at Steve’s car. It was a new black Jaguar. Jared’s jaw dropped in shock when he saw Steve pull out a set of keys and use the key fob to unlock the doors.

“When did you get this?” Jared asked. “I knew the band is doing better, but this must’ve cost a fortune.”

Steve smiled and opened up the driver’s side door. “I wasn’t going to tell you until after you were through with your mourning period, but I guess now is as good a time as any. We just signed a major record deal, and this was one of the perks.”

Not even registering the slight sarcastic jab, Jared stood in silent awe as Steve got in. The sports car started up immediately, the engine humming to life.

Steve rolled down the passenger side window. “Well, are you just going to stand out here all night, or are you going to get in?”

Jared took one last appreciative look at the car before getting in. “This is really yours?”

Steve winked. “Hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

“I think I’m in the wrong profession,” Jared mused. “You guys wouldn’t be looking for a kazoo player by any chance, would you?”

Laughing, Steve threw the car into drive. The tires squealed as the car surged forward, leaving a long black rubber streak in its wake.

Nine

The night was dark and dismal. The Shogun made his way down the empty street, knowing that he was already too late. He cursed the sudden waves of emotion that had so incapacitated him earlier. The loss of yet another innocent to that maniac was more than his pride could bear. Once, he might have had the strength to deal with such horrors, but not anymore.

He bent to examine a small patch of overgrown weeds that inhabited an alley. The broken body of a young woman with shoulder-length brown hair. She appeared to have been dumped like a bag of garbage, her heavy winter coat tossed not far from her.

The Shogun solemnly picked up the woman’s coat and reverently placed it over her dead body. It covered her face and most of her torso but left her legs and arms exposed. It was not a perfect shroud, but it was all he had, so it would have to do. Maybe her family would appreciate the kindness.

A stream of crimson slowly flowed from the blades of grass to form a small pool of blood on the sidewalk. He sat there for what seemed like hours, quietly examining the pool before lifting himself up and away from the lifeblood of the young woman.

“This will not happen again!” he vowed as he walked away from the grisly scene.

The killer was on the move and traveling fast, but not fast enough. It would not take the Shogun long to reach him and reach him he would. The Stalker was now the stalked, and if he had known who it was that hunted him, he would have turned himself into the police long ago.

He had only taken a few steps when two shadows separated themselves from the darkness and drifted into the street, two pools of writhing blackness, with menacing red eyes.

The Shogun recognized them. Terrible beings usually found in nightmares, they emanated an aura of fear that would have caused even the bravest of men to flinch. The demons neared the Shogun.

“What do you want of me?” The Shogun drew his glowing blade from its scabbard. “My quarrel is not with you today.”

The spirits hissed at him, “We know you, Ma’at. You have hindered many of us in the past!”

“I know your kind as well and have no time for your games!” the Shogun snapped, the darkness in his eyes seeming to burn with a shadowy fire. “I will deal with you as I have dealt with the rest of your kind, if you do not step aside!”

The shadowy specters shivered and convulsed and howled in outrage. They began to twist and contort until each shadow took on an almost humanoid form with large bat-like wings protruding out of their backs. Each demonic specter held a large shadowy curved sword in both hands, and with a gust of brimstone, their weapons ignited with unholy fire.

“The master has sent us to deal with you, Ma’at!” they growled in unison. “He has grown weary of your interfering in his work.”

“Who is your master?” inquired the Shogun. “And why does he protect the murderer?”

“Enough talk!” bellowed the demon on the left. “Let the battle commence. It has been long since I have seen combat!”

“You know full well that you have not the authority to slay me.”

“We may not have the power to destroy you, Ma’at, but we can hinder you,” hissed the demon on the right. “And that is all we were sent to do.”

“Then let it begin. But I can assure you that you will not hinder me much.”

Eager and impatient, the demon on the left attacked first, swinging his flaming blade hard at the Shogun’s head in an attempt. The Shogun deflected the blow easily but was forced slightly off balance by the strength of the strike. The second demon attacked then, stabbing at the Shogun’s midsection.

With supernatural agility, the Shogun managed to parry the strike while leaping away from his attacker. Before he could land, however, the first demon attacked again, thrusting his blade forward and up, attempting to skewer him in midair.

The Shogun deflected the attack with a spin. His sword whirling like a helicopter blade, he deflected