The Final Redemption by Michael Manning (little red riding hood ebook free .txt) 📕

still living creatures, they could notsurvive the same fatal wounds their opponents could.

They were more numerous however andsome of those that had arrived were magic-users. Lines of powerwrithed through the air, wrapping themselves around some of thegod-seeds, pinning and slowing them while the magic burned at theirskin.

Thomas had found his feet, but hishearing had taken a leave of absence. Yelling at the four men stillable to move he pointed in the direction of the archway that wouldtake them to their goal, “Get up and start running!” He could onlyhope their hearing was still intact. His own voice was nothing morethan a muted rumble in his ears.

While his men scrambled toobey, Thomas scanned the yard for his sword. I’ll be damned if I spend the rest of the day fightingwithout it. His eyes failed to find it,but he did spot what seemed to be the head of the thing that hadexploded. Taking a calculated risk, he ran for it, dodging two moremonstrosities as he went. The creatures seemed more interested ineach other now, and since he could hardly pick bizarre friend frommulti-legged foe Thomas responded by ignoring them in likefashion.

His luck held when he found his swordstill lodged in the burning head of the turtle beast. Putting hisarmored boot down on it, he wrenched the blade free and headed inthe direction that his soldiers were already running. He cursed ashe saw one fall directly in front of him; a crossbow quarrel hadsprouted from between the soldier’s shoulder blades.

Looking up to spot the man who hadfired, Thomas was grateful when he saw one of George’s men send thesniper flying from the wall. Sword in hand he ranonward.

***

The barracks door flew inward as oneof Harold’s men struck it a second time with a heavy mace. Thescene that greeted them inside was unusual given that it was theirown barracks. If the castle had been in their possession, Haroldwould have expected to find men resting, cleaning armor, or simplytalking together, instead it looked like a scene from abacchanal.

Most of the men inside were naked,baring chests and arms covered in strange tattoos, most notably theflaming black dagger that denoted the Shaddoth Krys. A number ofthe people inside were women, some tattooed and others clearskinned. Without exception they were naked as well, and while someof the assassins were simply oiling one another, others wereunabashedly engaged in more erotic acts.

Everyone became still for a moment asthe assassins stared at the newcomers.

Opening his visor, Harold grinned atthem evilly. “I thought I told you bastards to clean this placeup!” he said, as though he were addressing his own men on a normalday.

One of the nearest men opened hismouth in confusion, “Huh?” The words had barely left his slack jawbefore his head rolled away from his shoulders. Harold’s sword sentblood spatters along the wall as he whipped it back to a forwardguard position, and the assassin’s headless torso slumped, pumpingmore sanguine fluid onto the mattress and floor.

“Look at the mess you’ve made!” criedHarold in mock disbelief. “You’ve gotten blood all over my floor.”Pointing the tip of his sword at the others he dropped his smile,“The rest of you will have to clean that up.”

Pandemonium erupted as the occupantsof the barracks scrambled to claim weapons to meet their attackerswith. Daggers and swords appeared from beneath mattresses andfootlockers, but their general state of unpreparedness was a fataldisadvantage for most. Harold and his soldier’s waded forward,cutting and cleaving. Men and women died while blood ran so heavythat it created channels and rivulets throughout the largeroom.

One of the soldiers with Harold, a mannamed, Clarence pronounced his disgust, “Dammitt! That was my bed.”He was one of the refugees from Cameron itself, and one of thewomen now lay in two parts across his old bunk.

The fight was almost over now, withonly two of the forty-odd Shaddoth Krys that had been in the roomstill alive. They ducked and dodged around bedframes trying toavoid Harold’s soldiers, but they were unable to match them forspeed. The outcome was inevitable. A loud boom from outside caughtHarold’s attention.

“What was that?” asked the blondknight, but none of the others had any suggestions. “Finish hereand then sweep the hall and kitchens for more of them,” hecommanded hastily. “I’m going to check outside. I’ll find youafterward.”

With that he left them and beganrunning for the main hall that was the closest exit to thecourtyard. Along the way he encountered a few more confusedenemies. He spared them no words, and only the time it took toleave each dead as he passed.

“Who might you be?” asked a strangelyaccented voice on his right as he burst through the door to thefront entry hall. Turning, Harold spotted a bizarre spider the sizeof a small horse approaching.

Something about the confidence in itsmovements worried Harold. It wasn’t in the least troubled by thesudden appearance of a Knight of Stone within the castle walls.Seized by a sense of foreboding the blond warrior lowered his visorto protect himself more completely. “A more appropriate question,”he replied genially, “would be: What the hell are you?”

“I am Chel’strathek. You would know meas the Terror of the Night, one of what your people call the DarkGods. Lately I have been reduced to Mal’goroth’s lieutenant, notthat that is any of your concern, human,” answered the strangearachnid.

Harold’s body loosened as he preparedto take action. His eyes raked the hall, making note of distancesand the few heavy pieces of furniture. “You do yourself too muchhonor in assuming that I or any of my people would know your name,”he said, rebuking the god. “If I have had terrors in the night,they were not for fear of you. Like all your kind you are alreadyforgotten. Your name has no meaning anymore.”

A vicious bolt of malevolent powerstruck the place that Harold had been standing, but the knight wasalready moving. Dodging to the side only a few feet, Haroldreversed direction to avoid the second attack that followed a splitsecond after the first.

With each step he closed on hisopponent, watching the waving forelimbs that presaged each powerfulbolt of energy. He had almost