Hive Knight: A Dark Fantasy LitRPG (Trinity of the Hive Book 1) by Grayson Sinclair (poetry books to read TXT) 📗

from a depression atop the mountain. A flash of my features appeared before the rippling water distorted the image. Long, copper hair soaked to a muddy brown, which framed a rugged, menacing face. My hair nearly covered my amber eyes, which were alight with adrenaline. Even though my heart raced a mile a minute, I had the biggest smile plastered across my face.

Moss and bits of rock clung to my hands as I pushed myself off the ground and retrieved my bastard sword. The rocky, uneven terrain of the mountain made maintaining my footwork nearly an impossible challenge. I stepped over the slick rocks to rejoin my party.

 Sparks of lightning curled from the dragon’s jade horns, arcing off to strike at random. An errant bolt struck next to Alistair while he was distracted. He shouted over to us, but his words were lost in the storm.

 I ran over to him; his fine hair resembled a dirty mop as it stuck to his face and obscured his brown eyes. Alistair ignored me as he built another spell. Arms splayed wide open, his palms glowed as he worked his magic. I couldn’t understand the words of Script he used, but as the sandstone Script circle flared to life in between his hands, I recognized the spell he was about to cast: Ground.

Which meant we were about to be in trouble.

Amid the torrential downpour of rain, a ball of electricity amassed between the dragon’s horns and shot out in all directions before arcing back to converge on us. The bolts of lightning hit us and obliterated my senses as a blinding white light seared my vision and ozone burned in my nose.

It took a moment for the world to right itself again, but when it did, I was elated to see that we’d weathered the attack unscathed.

“Alistair, how far is the radius for Ground?”

“Fifteen feet, long as you stay close, I can keep the lightning attacks at bay.”

Oh, hell. That’s not going to cut it; we’re sitting ducks here. We may have had a counter for the dragon’s magic, but it still had half a dozen other nasty ways to end our lives. Realizing its electrical attacks had no effect on us, the storm dragon raged and lowered its head like it was about to charge us. “Shit! Not good! Gil, Levi, cover Alistair!”

Not waiting for their replies, I surged forward to meet its charge. Putting every ounce of speed into my legs, I activated Holy Blade. My sword took on an ethereal sunlit glow, and the scents of summertime overrode the stench of ozone. The light from my blade grew as the dragon opened its maw. The jagged, yellowed teeth snapped shut next to my ear as I brought my longsword up in an arc, slicing a deep furrow from the beast’s lower jaw to the base of its neck. A few teeth rattled to the ground and drew my gaze for a split second.

Which was a foolish mistake that should have killed me.

It cried out in agony and lashed out with its tail. The tip slammed into my side; one of its spikes speared through my shoulder. Pain radiated through me, and the tail whipped me into the air by the force of its attack. My health bar flashed in my interface, dropping deep into the yellow and then into the red when I crashed into the ground a moment later. My head slammed hard against a rock, and everything went dark.

I found myself dreaming of the past, which was never a good thing.

The tiny hovel I’d called home for the last few months was empty when I pushed aside the thin canvas flap. FEMA only used the highest quality particleboard and plywood in its construction; I’d accented it with duct tape and egg cartons to try and keep in as much warmth as I could, but it wasn’t enough.

A small pile of worn, filthy clothing sat on my bed, which was essentially a burlap sack filled with cheap stuffing. It, my clothes, and a thin, itchy blanket were all I had left in the world. After kicking the soiled clothing to the floor, I sat down, disgusted and ashamed with myself. So close. I was so fucking close this time.

I looked once more at the fence in the distance and watched as two workers under armed guard patched the two-and-a-half-foot hole I’d spent two weeks working on. I’d been so close, timed the guards’ patrol routes, and snuck enough canned food to last a week in a camouflaged spot right next to the fence. All that prep work only to be caught by two refugees who’d gone looking for a place to hook up.

Maybe tomorrow…tomorrow will be the night, I thought, scratching at my wiry beard as I curled up against the wall and wrapped my blanket around me. I’ll make a new plan tomorrow. A comforting lie. I was so consumed by my despondency that I didn’t hear it when she approached. A light knock on the doorframe interrupted my thoughts.

“Sampson Acre?”

Her voice was rich and strong, yet she spoke softly as if she were afraid of being overheard. Her words mixed with the constant hum of sounds that came with living in close quarters with thousands of other people, but my name cut through the background noise. She leaned in, only showing me half her face, staring down at me with a waiting gaze.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you Mr. Sampson Acre?”

I nodded, and she entered my cramped home, giving me a proper look at her.

She was pretty, bordering on beautiful. Long black hair flowed past her sharp cheekbones and pointed chin to rest just under her bust. She had full, strawberry lips upturned in a fake smile and light green eyes with flecks of gray dotted around the iris. They held a stark intelligence behind the allure