Death Cultivator 2 by eden Hudson (books to read in your 20s .TXT) 📗

Down the hall, the elevator’s mechanism whined, and the freight elevator began its descent. Time was up.

“Crap,” I breathed.

“Down here!” A gray-skinned hand with black claws stuck out of a cage closer to the elevator. “Let me out, Death cultivator! I can finish this!”

“Wait, no, do my Transferogate first!” one of the uncaged fighters shoved in front of me.

“I’ve been trapped down here longer, I deserve to go first!”

“No, please, me!”

“Death cultivator!” the first voice piped up again, black-clawed fingers snapping at me. “Ignore these dragmas. My Spirit is the one you need to finish this! I’ll show you!”

The scarred Ylef caught my eye. “She is very powerful.”

“Okay,” I said. “Keep getting as many people out as you can.”

Amidst outraged protests, I jogged down to the gray lady’s cage and cut the hinges off. A slender woman who looked like she was made of stretched-out gray putty unfolded herself from inside.

“You made the right choice,” she said, leaning down and pulling her glittery gray hair aside so I could get at the Transferogate.

To my right, the floor of the freight car broke the top of the door. About a dozen pairs of boots and bare feet and scaly bird legs were crammed in there. My heartrate jumped up.

“Let’s hope so,” I muttered, slicing as carefully as I could.

Another cut.

“Sorry.”

“Well worth it,” the gray lady said, yanking the hoses and wires out of her armpit. She tossed down the pile of junk. “Now watch this.”

She lumbered over to the shaft, making Rali step out of the way and Warcry hobble back against the wall. She raised her long arms and took deep, chest-expanding breaths. Neon yellow Spirit flowed into her from the walls and elevator.

The car was almost a foot below the line of the ceiling. Contrails inside hunched down, getting peeks at us and yelling about attacking.

The gray lady kept breathing.

I kept the scythe in one hand and dug Hungry Ghost out of my pocket with the other. I filled up on Miasma, triggering all the Ki-enhancements, while I ran through a list of first moves in case this lady didn’t do something quick. Death Grip in the elevator to hold some back, Three Corpse Sickness to distract any who got out...

The car was two feet below the ceiling now. A muscly dude leaned down, shoving his arm and shoulder through the gap. Metal Spirit flowed down his arm and coalesced into a revolver.

I hit him with Rigor Mortis, and his fingers froze half-closed around the glowing grip. Inside the elevator, other Contrails yelled at him to shoot already.

A lightbulb over the gray lady’s head flared brighter, then popped, showering glass through its little metal cage and sending a gout of yellow Spirit to her. Then another bulb farther down the hall exploded, then another, until all of them had burst. The only light in the hall came from inside the freight elevator’s car and the red flicker of Warcry’s flames.

“Here we go!” the gray lady yelled happily, flinging out one long arm.

Neon yellow lightning zapped off her fingertips, arcing into the elevator shaft. Something in there crackled, then exploded, showering sparks.

The freight car banged to a stop. Inside, Contrails shouted and bumped around, thrown off their feet by the sudden halt. Someone yelled and grabbed the guy with the Spirit revolver, trying to drag him back inside so they could get through.

With a chuckle, the gray lady fired another arc of lightning as thick as my arm. Instead of striking and stopping, this one kept sizzling. Molten slag dripped down the shaft from beneath the elevator car.

A metal cable twanged as it snapped. The freight car plunged.

“Ta-da!” the gray lady sang.

Screaming Contrails tried to shove their way out of the death trap as it plummeted past the opening. A couple were fast enough. One bird guy only made it halfway. With all that weight on, the elevator chopped him in half. The gray lady planted a foot on the screaming half-guy’s head and gave him a shove down the shaft.

Between the Ylef and the gray lady, the two dudes who made it off the elevator didn’t last long, either. Lightning shot the first guy down, and the Ylef skewered the other with some kind of Spirit lance.

The gray lady giggled, holding up a handful of arcing neon yellow light.

“And now your turn,” she said, hurling a fistful of lightning at me.

Fight for the Scythe

BEFORE I COULD EVEN flinch, a tangle of dirty white hair and torn robes flashed past me. The angel of death barreled into the gray lady, the lightning bolt ricocheting off of her white marble skin. They smashed through the open door of the elevator shaft, the gray lady’s head bouncing off the far wall. Lightning flashed up the shaft as she fell. Then there was a sickening wet thud, and the lightning stopped.

Instead of dropping with her, the angel of death ran up the inner wall of the shaft and jumped lightly back to the floor. Her silver eyes locked on me, and she bared her teeth in a snarl.

In a heartbeat, she sped across the floor and leapt at me, grabbing the scythe. Around her fingers, the handle flashed white. I jerked backward, trying to rip it out of her hands, but she clamped down like a pit bull with a bone. White and black battled up and down the handle of the scythe while we fought over it. We slammed into the cages, and my bootheel got hung up on one of the broken-off doors. I fell backward, and the angel tumbled with me, still clutching the scythe. Her knee landed in my stomach, a rock-solid blow that knocked the wind out of me. Sparks popped in my vision, and my grip loosened a fraction as I fought to breathe.

She yanked. The handle slipped through my fingers.

But the scythe didn’t go back to her. It ran through her hands like water, pouring back into