Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2), C.J. Aaron [e reading malayalam books txt] 📗

glowing weapons burst out of the bottoms of their chins along with chunks of bone and a river of blood. Ryl dove to the side as their bodies crashed to the earth.

His controlled roll brought him back to his feet in the face of the remaining three attackers. It was over in the blink of an eye. One fell, its legs severed below the knees; another’s head was separated from its body; the third, swinging to strike Andr, lost its arm before being disemboweled, nearly severed in two.

Andr was safe.

Ryl felt the burning in his veins dissipate. The weight of the fever crashed back into him. For a few moments, he’d felt energized. Alive.

He felt unstoppable.

His legs now wavered as the furious spinning returned with a vengeance.

“You can handle the rest,” he whispered to Andr.

His body again gave into the agony. He collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Chapter 15

The thundering roar that tore through the clearing made Andr’s blood run cold. He felt the reverberations of the deafening cries as they passed through his body. The noise sounded like a chorus of voices, each with a different agenda, screaming in unison.

In an instant the sound had altered the feeling inside the clearing. The frenzied bloodlust and anticipation of the Horde had filled the air with tension. They were eager for their kill; their excitement palpable. Andr could read the newfound confusion in the erratic, jerking movements of their heads. He could feel their fear as the rest of their bodies remained frozen in place.

Risking a glance, Andr turned his head to the source of the sound. The clearing lit with a brilliant green light. He froze at the sight that met his eyes.

The figure that stood before him looked like something out of a myth, an artist’s depiction of the heroes that had saved Damaris ages ago. The innocuous sticks that Ryl had so adamantly coveted now bore shimmering green blades that rippled with heat and fire.

Ryl inclined his head revealing his eyes for the first time. Andr had seen a muted version of that look before. His mind flashed back to the day he witnessed Ryl stand his ground against the sub-master. The eyes now swirled with the temper of an inferno.

The version of Ryl standing before him at the present was a stranger. He exuded a limitless confidence, so infectious, so magnetic, Andr felt drawn to him. The two met eyes only for a moment; the Ryl he knew returned for a split second, his lips curling into a devious smile.

“This is not your night to die, my friend,” Ryl whispered.

Andr heard the voice resonate clearly in his ears. He felt the voice as it hammered into him. In his head and in his heart, he believed every word of it with unconditional acceptance.

The words had barely coalesced into a sentence when Ryl flashed forward with a speed he struggled to track. Andr whipped his head around struggling to follow the motion; his eyes caught the aftermath. The fire dimmed for an instant before erupting into the faces of the Horde who now screamed in agony, stalling their renewed assault.

Andr saw a fleeting glimpse of Ryl disappear into the mass of the Horde. Their war cries morphed into screams of pain and fear as Ryl gave them no quarter. Showed them no mercy.

His eyes followed the wave of destruction that grew in Ryl’s wake. Five of the Horde broke from the decimated pack, charging him with renewed hatred. Their speed was incredible yet paled when compared to Ryl’s. He gasped as he recognized he’d underestimated the sheer rate and ferocity of their attack.

His sword would be too late.

The two closest to him were moving side by side, claws ready to strike. Their hateful cries ceased with an abrupt pause as the green blades from Ryl's swords erupted from the bottom of their chins in a shower of black blood. Ryl froze for a moment, one foot balanced on each of their backs, riding their lifeless corpses to the ground before wrenching his blades free, diving to face the last of his assailants.

It was over in an instant.

The final three Horde dropped to the ground in pieces. The entirety of the clearing was thick with gore. Limbs and heads severed from their bodies lay strewn across the ground; the black pools of blood merged into a putrid lake, coating the red earth. The painful wails of the few remaining Horde that still clung to life mixed into a tragic, pained melody.

Ryl’s lightning fast motion froze as he stopped in front of the mercenary.

“You can handle the rest,” Ryl whispered.

The storm raging in his eyes cleared. His shimmering green blades faded from existence as the sticks slipped from his limp fingers. The eyes that met Andr’s were no longer brimming with overwhelming confidence and strength.

Ryl’s eyes they were those of a scared child, pleading for help.

The look struck a chord with Andr. A long-repressed emotion surged to the forefront, replacing the cold indifference he’d used to cover the pain.

“Cray! No!” Andr cried as Ryl’s limp body crashed to the ground.

Chapter 16

Andr carried Ryl's convulsing body back to the crevice in the rock where he'd left him earlier. He remained vigilant by his side as his companion settled into a fitful sleep.

He watched until Ryl’s breaths became regular before seeing to the grim task of dispatching the remaining Horde. The abominations had been bent on his destruction, yet he was loath to see them suffer. Andr counted the remains of forty lanky warriors of the Horde. Only five remained clinging to the fraying strands of life.

In a matter of moments, Ryl had destroyed them all. The young man, incapacitated with the debilitating sickness, had risen to his feet before launching a devastating, coordinated attack with a speed and precision Andr hardly followed.

What was he?

The thought riddled his mind as he salvaged a small fire from the remnants of their last. What had