Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II by Hodges, Aaron (good english books to read .txt) 📗

madness, for a clue that the endless passage of time had stolen her sanity. If he struck fast enough, perhaps he could avert disaster…

A hiss whispered through the chamber as the Old One took her first breath. Lying naked amidst the broken glass and strangely gelatinous liquid, blonde hair plastered against her skull, she sucked in great lungfuls of air. Her skin was drained, turned an unhealthy grey, almost translucent, though as Adonis watched, colour reappeared in her cheeks, life returning. The hammer shook in his hands; the window to act was quickly closing. But he did nothing. Slowly the Old One’s head lifted, and her eyes fell upon them.

A soft growl rasped from her throat as she rose, and despite himself, Adonis took a step backwards. The terrible eyes flickered in his direction. They were the eyes of the Tangata, pure grey, pupils dilated by the light, but in those depths he saw none of the intelligence of his people. The madness was upon this creature, the berserker rage that sometimes came upon them in battle.

He tensed, sensing what the creature was about to do, and lifted the hammer.

There was a rush of movement, a harsh thud. Beside Adonis, his brother Tangata died.

A cry echoed through the chamber as the Tangata leapt back from their companion, weapons held at the ready, but the female did not pay them any attention. Instead, she held their dying brother by the top of his skull, his feet an inch above the floor. Blood still pulsed from his throat, but as Adonis watched, it slowed to a trickle, the last of his brother’s life fled.

Lips curled back in a snarl, the Old One leaned in close, as though to inspect her victim. Whatever she’d expected to find, apparently their brother was found wanting. With a flick of her wrist, she sent him toppling sideways. And the grey eyes turned once more to the living.

A cry escaped Adonis’s throat, one of rage and frustration, of the knowledge that he and his comrades had made a terrible mistake. Hammer clutched in one hand, he moved towards the Old One.

She was faster. Another of his Tangata cried out and Adonis watched, helpless, as his sister crumpled, a terrible hole torn through her chest. Laughter whispered from the Old One as she stood over the body, blood dripping from her fingers.

Stop her! Adonis screamed, and his brethren charged.

They died one by one, the Old One dancing between them like a fox amongst the chickens, dropping them at will. Adonis’s hammer blows failed to touch her and even his enhanced vision struggled to follow the speed of her movements.

Aghast, Adonis found himself retreating from the carnage. He watched in horror as the best of the fourth generation were butchered like humans. It took the Old One just moments to finish his warrior pairs, though the last she lingered with, feinting, toying, as though she enjoyed watching his fear, his pain. Finally, with a cry of defiance, the Tangata leapt, hammer raised in a desperate strike. She struck him with a backhanded blow so powerful he was flung backwards into the broken cylinder, impaling him on the giant shards of glass.

Then she turned her insane eyes on Adonis. Something in their icy depths seemed to understand he would not fight her, and a smile touched her lips.

Adonis shivered as she approached him, her naked figure covered in the blood of his companions. He knew now how great their error had been. This creature cared not for the Tangata. It cared only for death. This creature would see the world burn.

Death, death, death.

The words pounded in his skull and Adonis found himself taking a step back. Faster than thought, the Old One was there, her fingers closing upon his throat like an iron vice. He cried out, but a squeeze stole the sound away as her fingernails clamped upon his windpipe. Desperately he tried to break her hold, to tear himself loose, but for the first time in his life, Adonis’s strength failed him in the face of a greater foe. The hammer was still in his hand and awkwardly he tried to swing it for her face. She caught him with her spare hand.

Death, death, death.

The fist tightened around his throat, but through his agony, Adonis finally recognised the whispers for what they were. Gasping, he thrust out with his mind.

Stop, please!

The Old One let out a cry, and releasing him, she leapt back, teeth bared, eyes wide. Adonis collapsed to the ground and gasped in great breaths of the stale air. The creature’s scent was strong now that she was free of her liquid cocoon and he found his head swirling. But eventually fresh oxygen restored strength to his failing body and his mind cleared.

Slowly, Adonis drew himself back to his feet. His eyes were drawn to the bodies of his brethren. They lay all about him, their blood staining the cold stone. He quickly looked away, looking at the Old One once more. Why had she stopped? She hadn’t hesitated to strike a mortal blow against the others.

She made no move to attack now, only stood watching, as though she were waiting for something…

What…are…you?

Adonis leapt back as the words reverberated in his skull. The Old One’s voice was so loud she was practically screaming into his mind.

So strong!

He drew in a breath, then sent his thoughts out towards the creature.

We are your descendants, Old One, he said, his gaze drawn again to the dead. His heart twisted at the loss, but he forced his mind to focus. The grey eyes still watched him. Centuries have passed since you began your slumber. We came to wake you, to free you from your chains.

The Old One regarded him in silence. The strange liquid still dripped from her naked body, mingling with the blood of his brethren. Adonis clenched his fists as he suffered her gaze, wondering what it must have been like, to slumber for so long, to wake