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

There was a flare of red light behind me—Warcry catching on fire. Chains jingled, and I knew Kest was shooting the pointed weights on her chain gauntlet.

Somehow these ferals could move much faster than should’ve been possible through the muck. Seeing them running around while I was giving it everything I had just to move at a slow slog was like being in one of those nightmares where you try to run as fast as you can, but no matter what you do, you’re still moving in slow motion.

The shark and I collided, and I threw my weight into my left shield, slamming it into his gap-toothed maw. I couldn’t get full body power behind the blow because my feet were stuck in the mud, but the shot staggered him, and razor-sharp teeth plinked into the water. I hammered out the other shield in an elbow strike, blasting it at an angle across his temple. His skull crunched like an eggshell and rotten black goo splattered. The shark dropped into the muck, dead.

“They’re just like ferals!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Take out the heads!”

“Bog ferals?” Warcry let out a string of curses as a kick from his prosthetic demolished a decaying face. “This bleedin’ trash planet!”

Dead Reckoning pinged behind my back, letting me know a feral was about to blindside me. I went to spin around, but a hand down in the muck latched onto my right ankle.

“Crap!” I kicked, but the fingers dug into my skin through my jeans.

The rotten fist Dead Reckoning had warned me about crashed into my jaw. White sparks popped in my vision, and skinless knucklebones scraped off my cheek. I stumbled, trying to stay standing, but the hand in the muck tripped me up. I fell forward. Thick, rancid bog water filled my sinuses.

Dead Reckoning freaked out again. Clumsily, I shoved my right shield over my shoulder to protect my back just before another fist clobbered me.

A second underwater hand grabbed my shirt from below and pulled me down farther. You always think you can hold your breath a decent amount of time if you have to, but I’m here to tell you, the second you’re thrashing around, choking on muddy water, fending off rotting hands from every direction, your breath is just gone.

Lungs full of bog water, I dropped Dead Reckoning and both shields and shot out Dead Man’s Hand, following the decomposing arms back down to the feral hidden in the muck.

Stomps rained down on my back and shoulders from above, but I focused on finding the life point of the thing holding me down.

Living things’ life points usually flickered like the flame on a candle, but this feral’s life was an oozing brown slime. Dead Man’s Hand closed around the ooze like a fist.

But I couldn’t smother something that wasn’t burning. What was I supposed to do to stop this thing?

A stomp scraped down the side of my head, almost tearing my ear off. I didn’t have time to think the move through. I squeezed the bog feral’s oozing life point and yanked as hard as I could.

There was a split second of resistance, then a feeling like strings of gristly meat tearing as I ripped the life out of the feral.

The fingers clutching my shirt and ankle immediately went limp. The oozing life point rolled into my Spirit sea, a gross oiliness and a rush of power hitting me at the same time. Strength poured into my muscles, and my lungs stopped freaking out.

I squirmed out from under the stomping, then grabbed onto one rotten leg. Getting my knees underneath me, I shoved as hard as I could, throwing the feral backward in the water, then I climbed on top of it.

I chopped a reinforced elbow down on the feral’s head. With the water in the way, I shouldn’t have had enough power behind the hit to smash the skull, but there was so much extra strength from that absorbed life point that my arm plowed right through the feral’s decaying head. Brains and bog water geysered in every direction.

A third feral, which must’ve joined the party when I went under, clawed at my back and neck. Fleshless finger bones cut into my skin.

Before it could tear into me again, I re-formed one Death Metal shield and twisted around, slamming it into the feral’s gut. As it doubled over, I smashed the edge of the shield into the back of its head. It dropped limp into a dead man’s float, rotting goo seeping out of the gash in its skull.

I staggered to my feet, still coughing and choking, but managing to suck down some oxygen in there, too.

Rali was a few yards away, helping Warcry, who was still throwing burning fists, but wasn’t moving his legs at all.

I sent out a huge blast of Dead Reckoning like a radar. A dozen oozing brown feral life points appeared in my brain. Three ferals had ganged up on Warcry from below, trapping his legs like they had mine, and a bunch more were crowded around him trying to attack while Rali held them off.

There was also a flash of sparkling purple nearby, but the second I noticed it, it disappeared.

Warcry let out a snarl and threw a burning punch at a feral. Rali darted around him, whirling his walking stick and launching palm strikes, Warm Heart Spirit shoving the decomposing creatures back without him ever laying a hand on them. Rali was a lot faster than he should’ve been, like the water and muck didn’t affect him, but it was only a matter of time before those grasping hands below managed to get ahold of him, too.

With Dead Man’s Hand, I reached down into the muck and seized one oozing brown life point. At that range, it took a lot of concentration.

“Hake, look out!” Kest yelled.

Chains jingled, and something whiffed past my cheek. Putrid black gore splattered against the back of my neck. A