Warlord Conquering (The Great Insurrection Book 3) by David Beers (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📗

Ares walked closer but stopped about five meters away. "Yes."

Veena could slap him. Now wasn't the time for games. "Well, where is she?"

"At the bottom of a stairwell. She's dead."

Veena froze as she processed the information. She had come here with the possibility of killing Hel in the back of her mind, though she hadn't honestly thought it'd be necessary. Now this Titan in full gear was telling her the woman was deceased. "How?"

"I broke her neck," Ares answered.

"Why?"

"Because she deserved it." His face was a mask, showing no emotion. "She deserved far worse if we're honest; her death was too merciful."

Veena slowly placed her hand on the StarBeam at her hip. "Did you come here to kill me too?"

"That depends on you."

The lasers and plasma streaked through the air like comets.

Prometheus charged forward without knowing who was beside him or behind him. He had only one goal: the death of everyone in front of him.

The first shot to hit him tagged his shoulder. The SkinSuit tried to react to the plasma, but it wasn't built to withstand that kind of burn, so the plasma melted into his flesh. He ignored the pain and charged forward, only three meters from his target.

A laser slashed across the outside of his thigh, slicing through suit and meat alike. He heard a scream behind him but rushed forward as blood poured from his body. Two meters out.

He didn't see the insects at first; his mind was focused on bringing death to his enemies. He saw the first one in the corner of his vision, floating on the side. He didn't have time to look, but suddenly there were more surrounding his head as they tried to find purchase on his shoulder.

He reached the line of battle as plasma blasted his left forearm. The Whip in his right hand cut through the first line of soldiers, putting two on the ground with their intestines rolling across the floor. Lasers came from behind him as Servia aimed at the enemies. He saw the insects landing on his nearly shattered left arm, the pain dead to him in his bloodlust.

Men fell in front of him, and it sounded like Caesar was laying waste to those on the right side. More of the robotic insects filled the air, latching onto Alistair in places he didn't know were wounded. A MechPulse blasted from behind him, and he saw Faitrin step forward with her two knives to join in the violence.

Insects were everywhere, a cloud practically covering Prometheus as he slashed and cut. Someone went for his lower legs and he leaped over the man, puncturing his torso with his Whip.

A piece of artillery flew through the air, nearly taking off Pro's head, then smashed into the wall and shattered. He turned to the right and saw Caesar picking up another plasma blaster and tossing it the opposite way. All the while, nanotech flooded out of his palms, the bugs searching for their injured.

The battle lasted a little over four minutes, and after Prometheus killed the last man, he fell to his knees.

Holes covered his body, and he'd never felt so weak in his life. He didn't try to stand up but rolled to his side and then onto his back. He tried to stare at the ceiling, but a cloud of insects moved across him and blocked his vision.

"If you can hear me," he said, "say something."

He didn't have the strength to look.

He heard the voices come back to him: Servia, Faitrin, and Relm.

"Caesar?" Alistair looked in the giant's direction, using his uninjured arm to try to clear the insects away. Some had fallen to the ground, dying as their job was finished. The gigante lay on his back, cuts all over his massive body despite his armor. Insects covered him too, though not as many. It appeared that more had gone to the others, but Caesar's chest was moving up and down.

Alistair asked again. "Caesar, are you with us?"

The giant raised a hand and pointed the thumb up. Alistair smiled and turned back to the ceiling. They'd survived. Somehow.

Now all they had to do was attack a group of giants who could heal themselves.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Death must be easier than life.”

—Thoreaux

Manius wondered what he'd gotten himself into. He watched as five people cut down a group of thirty men plus artillery.

He understood that Kane had known the attack at the hotel was coming; one of his rivals had tipped him off. Still, Manius hadn't ever heard of anyone turning a gigante. The investment in one of those creatures was so much, any buyer went to great lengths to ensure the monsters thought their owner was godlike.

Now, though, after watching this man brutalize an entire battalion, Manius understood. This was no ordinary human. Even the gigantes’ level of violence couldn't match this Kane fellow's.

Now this barely human creature was inside his fortress.

Manius might be prone to violence, but he wasn't stupid. He understood that what was happening now could not be contained, only ended with finality. He could not keep people from talking about what had occurred. It would spread throughout the underworld, and his fortress would end up fair game for any up-and-comer who wanted to make a name for himself. Or at least, that was what they would think, but none had the abilities of the person Manius was watching.

He hadn't sent more men to fight yet because he wasn't sure he wanted to waste the resources. The men and women who lived in this fortress were more valuable than the ones on the street doing his bidding. They had been vetted and tested, and their deaths were a sum he didn't want to count right now.

He ran his right hand through his thick dark hair. This wasn't good. He knew what the man wanted: that poor soul who was almost dead. Manius couldn't simply give the Subversive to him, though, not after all this. Not after accepting the credits from that Hel