Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) by Jonathan Michael (ereader that reads to you txt) 📗

ambiance of Cerise struggling to pierce the canopy. A silhouette forms in the distance. I steal behind a large trunk several paces ahead to gain better sight of it. There’s a second silhouette. Much smaller. And it appears as if it’s floating. No…it’s dangling from a tree, swaying back and forth like a pendulum in the evening summer breeze.

Susy save us. Is that you, Jay? Am I too late?

I see the behemoth much clearer now as I attempt to protect my nose from its odor. A beast as malicious as they come. A beast feared by all others. A beast that leaves no survivors. An elusive beast formally known as the Cryptid.

It’s more of a primitive man than animal. It walks upright with a hide as hairy as an ape, and the claws and teeth of a murderous wolverine.  Legend has it they stand a head taller than any man. This one, however, looks to be a few heads taller, which is perfect. The bigger the beast, the grander the kill.

The Cryptid is distracted with prepping its meal. I slip to the cover of the next tree, and then to the next. At this proximity, the stench is revolting, but I manage to tolerate it. It wouldn’t surprise me if the beast found most of its meals by strolling past its prey with the punishment of its stench knocking them to the ground. If I don’t kill it with my blade first, I’m going to drown it in the Scarlet to wash that stench away.

I push some foliage aside to get a better view of Jay and notice my hand shaking mildly. It must be the smell attacking my nerves. I ignore it and edge closer.

I step out from behind the tree with whip in hand, the thieving beast still unaware of my presence with its back facing me. Jaymes is hanging from her ankles. It’s a low branch, her arms limp and extending nearly to the forest floor. Her right leg is an overflowing chalice of wine, saturated in blood. And her shirt is bunched around her breasts as she dangles seemingly lifeless.

The Cryptid shifts. I pause. My hands continue to tremble. It grabs her by the throat with one hand and, with its thumbnail, slowly and skillfully slices one single line down her body from her ankle down to her chest. Her skin curls back.

Without any further hesitation, I gather my courage and launch the attack. My whip cracks toward the throat of the beast. I know the whip is too short, so as it unfurls, I focus my growth on the fibers of the vine. The beast effortlessly turns faster than I would have ever imagined possible. It grabs the end of my arachniwhip, yanking me in its direction. Caught off guard by its unnatural speed, I stumble forward over the reaching roots of a tree. When I hit the ground, the whip escapes my grasp.

The beast drops the toxic spider vine and scratches at its forearm. I’ve only handicapped it. I was targeting its neck. Had I succeeded, it would likely be kissing the forest floor right now.

I snap to my feet, and the Cryptid is already on top of me. It hurls its massive fist with rage, leaving me barely enough time to evade the attack.

Such intelligence…and speed. I wonder where the tales come from because none have ever spoken of such things. Doubts of survival hit me for the first time, reminding me of the day I fled from my father.

I will not flee without Jaymes, and the only way to do that is by taking down this malevolent beast. But to battle this thing with fist and a small kukri the size of my forearm in hopes of a victory would be foolish. And bards don’t sing songs about foolish dead men. I need that whip.

I tuck and roll past the Cryptid as another hairy-knuckled maul swings toward me. It brushes my shoulder and sends me tumbling over to where my arachniwhip lies unattended on the ground. I seize it and quickly get back into a defensive stance, ready to stab at it with the short blade interlocked into the butt of the whip. My hands are shaking more violently now. The beast snarls and attacks with a slash of its claws. I sidestep and puncture its hind quarter, followed by a crack of the whip across its back.

The toxins in the vine have enough potency to put down a human for hours with the intended attack of the weapon to be stun and gut. I can only hope it’s enough to take on a beast of this magnitude.

A curdling roar whales from the beast, and it turns to face me. The leather handle is tight between my fingers, and I crack the whip once more. This time in the direction of its feet. The vine curls around an ankle as it lurches toward me, and I pull back with all my weight to uproot its trunk-like legs. But the beast is far too heavy, and I end up falling on my backside. A feeble attempt. The Cryptid is unfazed by the attack.

I scramble backward on my hands and feet. The beast advances. I give my inadequate blade a reproachful look. It’s not enough for a counterattack. Not against a beast this massive. As it gets within a pace of me, the poison in its leg takes effect, but adversely ill-timed.

The Cryptid stumbles and topples onto me. I feel my dagger puncture something upon impact, but with the adrenaline rushing through my veins, I’m unsure if it was me or the beast. Our crash against the forest bed drives it deeper, and I gasp for air, unable to find it.

I’ve met my father’s expectations, as usual. He would be so proud. I can hear him now. Goose! Goose, what’ve you done? Your over-confident ego has