The Angaran Chronicles: The Underside; An Extract by Ben Agar (great books to read .txt) 📕

utter stench of burning—melting, frying flesh and fat.

 

Raleas was up again, shooting the last two rounds of her clip, killing two of Jelcine’s attackers. There was only one left now, who turned to run, but Jelcine brutally split his skull.

 

Finally, Emilia had finished her transformation. Howling at the heavens, she bounded over the Jeep to tear into the remaining locals like a whirlwind.

 

The fight, if you could call it that, being more akin to slaughter, only lasted four more seconds. The only local alive was the rule enforcer, who, with a bit of shrapnel lodged in his leg, was attempting to crawl away, whimpering pitifully in pain and fear.

 

“See?” said Jelcine. She was covered in blood as she approached him and smiled from ear to ear. “I told you this would happen, but did you believe me? Nooo.”

 

“What in the name of Jaroai are you?” he stammered.

 

“You already know that,” said Jelcine. “We’re Hunters.” Then she glanced at Raleas and Emilia. “Most of us. But we’re also something else.”

 

“W-what?”

 

“Your worst nightmare.”

Extract 3

 

Can one live up to their own expectations? Or are we all fated for hypocrisy?

The magically enhanced super-assassin, Anargrin and his team are the elite of the elite; black operations sent on the most dangerous of assignments to undermine the authoritarian theocratic regimes of the continent of Angara. Anargrin believes the past should be remembered, never obsessed over. Still, when he and his band of misfits are sent to investigate a Hunter Coven that stopped all communication soon, evidence indicates Anargrin’s enemy’s involvement. An enemy that is responsible directly and indirectly for much of Anargrin’s traumatic past, evidence that reveals a conspiracy hidden within the slave trade.

A conspiracy that threatens to engulf the entire continent in blood.

Due to be released on the 1st of November 2021, pre-order here!

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Anargrin’s elbow smashed hard into the mercenary’s face, sending him flailing. Another mercenary swung out the butt of his rifle. But Anargrin caught it midswing and twisted with the attack’s momentum, which allowed him to tear the rifle from the merc’s grasp easily. Anargrin’s backfist connected with a crunch into the man’s side. Then his uppercut threw him off his feet.

Anargrin slapped away another merc’s punch and weaved under the man’s hook. Lightning fast, Anargrin slipped onto the man’s side, and his low side kick snapped the man’s knee inward. The soldier screamed, collapsing, but Anargrin’s knee bashing in his face silenced him.

They were mercenaries, easily identifiable ones as well. They were from the organization named Blackreach, a company that worked out of Hamar, said to be one of the most elite and expensive mercenary forces in the world. They’d been around even when Anargrin was young, and there were dozens of the bastards in the first few carriages alone. Hiring so many must’ve cost a fortune. Their enemy was indeed well funded.

Each of them was an experienced soldier of some merit, but none were a match for them.

Anargrin couldn’t help but wonder who, exactly, they were—what they were, he had no doubt, but “who” was another question entirely.

Two more mercs popped out and raised their rifles, aiming at Anargrin, who only stood still, smiling at them.

Emilia suddenly lunged past him, barreling at the mercs like a bullet. They screamed and shot, managing to put one round into her each before she was upon them and tearing the poor bastards apart.

Anargrin clenched his teeth and looked away. He’d worked with Emilia for going on one hundred and twenty years now but still wasn’t used to her animalistic, horrific brutality. They said all werewolves eventually gave in to the hunger. Anargrin couldn’t help but wonder how long Emilia had, precisely.

He was just glad she was on his side, for now anyway.

Jelcine and Anargrin ran past Emilia as she tore apart her prey. Seven more mercs emerged from cowering behind their train seats.

But why weren’t they running? Shit. If he were them, he would. Emilia alone was terrifying enough. Perhaps it was a foolish, professional pride, or maybe they just thought they had nowhere to run? Either way, it didn’t matter. They were in their way.

They opened fire on Jelcine and Anargrin. Anargrin weaved and wound through their hail of gunfire, managing it despite the seats in his way. Jelcine strode down the aisle, her huge, seemingly unwieldy ax a blur as it battered their bullets aside.

Anargrin was first on them. He kicked one full in the face as he leapt over the seat the mercenary was taking cover behind.

Another merc on Anargrin’s left tried to bring his rifle around, but Anargrin’s grasp shot out and clutched the gun, stopping it short. With the same hand, Anargrin chopped the man hard across the solar plexus and followed that with another chop, angled up into the bottom of the merc’s nose

With an agonized cry, the merc began to collapse to his knees, but Anargrin brought his elbow into the back of his neck and sent his limp body smashing into the third merc with a powerful side kick.

By then, Jelcine was on the other four, decapitating one, and the last three didn’t last much longer.

Having just finished feasting, Emilia rushed past them, crashing and snarling through to the next carriage, breaking the metal walls with such ease they may as well have been made of papier mâché.

Jelcine and Anargrin, side by side, walked in her wake. There were just two carriages left before the last one, the victims and their leader—this Berrk must have been there. But Anargrin couldn’t help but wonder, why hadn’t they just pulled the pin yet?

Anargrin’s train of thought was interrupted as more gunfire echoed, and they both froze in their tracks as they heard what followed: the sickening sound of high-pitched, yelping pain.

Jelcine and Anargrin shared a glance. Then they were running, Anargrin exclaiming, “Shit, shit, shit.”

They both leapt to the next carriage and found, to their horror, Emilia curled on the floor with large, ragged, bloody bullet holes in her torso. Anargrin could see her chest was still rising and falling as she breathed, but she was well out of the fight, barely conscious.

Four figures stood at the other end of the carriage. Anargrin couldn’t sense an aura from any of them. All were “human.” One, a blond man, had a smoking high-caliber revolver raised. Three were male, one female, all as pale as snow, all wearing black leather coats. The irises of their eyes were blood red.

Anargrin didn’t need to be an expert on spotting one to know they were vampires. He could only hope that none were originals. Now he knew the real reason the mercenaries hadn’t turned tail and run: they were more scared of these vampires than the rampaging werewolf.

The vampire with the pistol laughed. “Fucking glad I kept those silver bullets on me. Always good to be prepared.”

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” said the female vampire. She was almost as tall as Jelcine, attractive too, her long red hair curling over her slender shoulders. “The Hunters that Berrk told us about.”

She smiled at Anargrin. It would’ve been beautiful if her fangs weren’t extended so long.

“Hmm, I like him. Even for an elf, he’s handsome. Julen, can we keep him alive so I can play with him later?”

“I ain’t guaranteeing you nothin’, Alicin,” said the one who must’ve been Julen. He was the tallest of them, his thick brown hair long and unkempt. “I don’t give a shit. But you made a right mess of the fucking expensive mercs we hired.”

“What?” Jelcine asked. “You expect an apology?”

“Shit no,” exclaimed Julen. “It just proves what I said. They’re useless pieces of shit who didn’t deserve half the price.”

Anargrin grinned as, in a flash of light, he summoned his sword and drew it into a ready stance.

“Or they were worth the fee, but we’re worth ten times more,” Anargrin said.

“I fucking doubt that,” bellowed Julen as he drew a longsword from inside his coat, as did the others. Alicin wielded a saber, and the gray-haired, older vampire drew a huge greatsword, only slightly shorter than he was tall. They all held their weapons with the confidence only the skilled were capable of. The blond vampire didn’t draw a melee weapon, just kept his revolver raised.

They were vampires, so their natural strength far exceeded Anargrin’s. Even the average vampire was as strong as Jelcine. The only thing he had over them was his extreme speed. All vampires were faster than the average human, but Anargrin far exceeded even that. The only way to kill a vampire was by decapitation.

While far tougher and quicker to heal than an average person, a Hunter could still be killed by conventional means. Vampires could lose a limb but go on with ease, whereas a Hunter would faint and then die from the blood loss if not stemmed quickly. They also never tired, and Anargrin could already feel fatigue starting to slow him.

It was going to be a hard fight.

“Let’s earn our keep and kill these fuckers,” snarled Julen.

The blond vampire opened fire. The kickback of such a high-caliber weapon would’ve broken an average person’s arm if they wielded it with one hand like him, but there was barely any movement. The shots flew for Jelcine, who smashed them aside with her ax, but the kinetic force was almost too much for even her to handle.

Alicin and Julen were already moving, sprinting over the seat tops so fast it may well have been solid ground. Simultaneously, the older gray-haired vampire, with his bare hands, tore one of the seats from its bolts and, with a roar, flung it across the expanse straight at Anargrin with breathtaking velocity.

Anargrin ducked just under it a mere millisecond before the Alicin woman was upon him. Laughing, she slashed her saber downward, straight for his skull.

Anargrin sidestepped it and then weaved under her follow-on, a horizontal slash aimed for his face. She was fast, really fast—that, coupled with her vampiric strength. Anargrin was sure he’d likely be disarmed if he blocked her attacks, so he could only dodge or parry, but his parry would have to be timed with perfection. For someone who wanted him alive, she seemed to be trying her best to kill him.

She was fast, but not as fast as him.

With a grin, he slipped away from her third attack, another horizontal slash, and slid in, slashing at her neck. His sudden burst of speed almost took her off guard, her large green eyes wide with surprise while she barely backstepped it.

Anargrin followed with a downward diagonal cut that she just managed to batter away, but that opened her up for his front kick, which hit her in the chest and sent her stumbling back. He heard a crunch as one of her ribs gave way, but she showed no sign of pain. Being a vampire, she was incapable of feeling anything, pain included.

With a snarl, she lunged, slashing upward at his groin. Anargrin backpedaled it by a hair.

Alicin had his attention so fixated he almost didn’t notice the older male vampire bearing down on him. Anyone else would’ve failed, but Anargrin wasn’t “anyone else.”

The vampire took a huge running leap, which was almost laughably obsolete with his horrible strength, and with a deafening