The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4), C.J. Aaron [best novel books to read .TXT] 📗

A portion of the alexen focused on battling the discomfort that had been mounting in his left arm. He lacked confidence in the appendage. The fear that a jolt of pain would cause the weapon to slip from his hand was potent. Even so, he maneuvered the blade with reserved, yet lethal efficiency. It was a clear hindrance. Over a long-fought battle, one that could prove devastating. Even diminished, he was more than capable.

Ryl had thought he’d grasped the understanding of the confusing sensation after the battle on the bridge before Serrate. The resurgence of the pain this time was puzzling. The feeling had swelled in the presence of the Lei Guard and the refined nexela, yet the power that he struggled to comprehend failed to materialize now when he needed it the most.

At the present, he couldn’t be bothered by the explanation. He’d searched the innermost recesses of his mind. He’d questioned the knowledge of the phrenics before him, though no answers revealed themselves. The frustrating feeling of resignation was undeniable. He held on to hope as he’d placed his faith in the alexen, believing that when the time was right, the truth would be revealed.

The Horde fell before him in numbers beyond counting. He darted from one side of the avenue to the other, falling upon the demons with a ferocity they could neither match nor counter. The initial shock of his actions faded rapidly. The Horde before him attempted to turn the tide using the tactic he’d anticipated. As they rebounded from the initial shock, they turned on him, pressing his attack with the weight of overwhelming numbers.

Ryl felt the heat of battle overtaking him. He struggled to maintain his assault without compromising his position. The loss of the full confidence in his left arm grew into a concern that threatened his concentration. The sting of claws across his chest brought his mind back to reality. He felt the hot wash of blood as it ran down the front of his shirt.

Ryl growled as he unleashed another slash of wind. The press of the lanky blackened bodies subsided as the wind tossed them away like rag dolls. They wailed in agony and confusion as they careened into the others pressed close behind. Many never rose again as his flaming blade stalled their rise.

Throughout the battle, his mindsight worked in tandem with his other senses. The surging blackened wave of the Horde ebbed and flowed as his assault cut into their overwhelming numbers. For every demon he felled, several more took their place. The sea of enemies was endless.

Ryl had staked his claim just to the north of the first set of alleyways that split off from the main avenue. The location allowed him to ensure that the battle remained at his front. From the west, no avenues exited behind him to the courtyard and the gate. To the east, the only narrow alley at his rear had been clogged by a mountain of debris from the fire to the barracks and the explosion that had rocked the street. The expansion of the Horde had surprisingly stalled on the western side of the city.

He lost track of time as his battle waged on. The dead and dying before him choked the roadway. Every step was made with caution as the stone grew slick with blood and gore. A veritable river of black oozed down the gentle slope.

The ease with which he cut down his foes was invigorating, yet at the same time sickening. He’d long lost the last shred of remorse for the vile demons that fell to his blades. The apathetic thought disturbed him to his core. Though outnumbered, he killed with impunity. The battle was a massacre. A chilling thought touched upon his consciousness.

Was he becoming no better than the demons he sought to defend against?

He felt invincible, though he fought his mind from concentrating on the feeling. Overconfidence would be his demise. The alexen in his blood screamed in a mixture of agitation and animosity. His muscles begged for relief and pause. Ryl sent a final blast, a wide arc across the road, propelling the dead and living with it.

He released his hold on the speed that flowed through him as the gap opened between himself and the Horde. He was panting, his chest heaving as he gasped for massive breaths. As time snapped back to normal, Ryl was shockingly aware of his mortality.

He had been careless, too lost in emotion to contemplate the reality of his actions.

He was alone, bobbing in a sea of vicious hatred.

One phrenic against untold millions. While he’d held his own, a single misstep would cost him his life.

A high-pitched whistle from behind commanded his attention. A bolt, still flaming, careened off the stone facade of the building to his right. A shower of sparks rained down over the avenue, hissing as they extinguished in the pools of black blood.

A second followed.

Then a third.

Ryl turned his body to the side, facing east, his right hand with the flaming serrated blade held defensively toward the Horde. The demons’ approach was hesitant. They maintained their gap as he risked a glance back toward the gate.

He spotted the commotion atop the palisade immediately. Fay’s animated motions stood out among the wall of archers. The young lord jumped up and down, flailing his arms above his head. With exaggerated gestures, he pointed to the east and then to the west before beckoning Ryl back with his arms. He knew the army of the king marched from the east. From his last view, nothing but a sea of Horde covered the terrain to the west. What Fay was signaling to, he knew not.

Ryl backed slowly up the bloodied avenue. His body, regaining its composure with every breath, thanked him for the respite. No matter how short of a duration it was. Though they gnashed their teeth and slashed their claws menacingly through the air, the Horde halted their approach.

They seemed tentative. Their rage-filled growls and