Hive Knight: A Dark Fantasy LitRPG (Trinity of the Hive Book 1) by Grayson Sinclair (black authors fiction txt) 📕

features. The man wielded an ivory cane in his off-hand. Darren handed over the bound demi-human children as the man passed Darren a heavy sack of gold.

The man fiddled with his cane, tossing it from hand to hand with a flourish. He balanced it and rubbed the tip of the ivory, drawing my eyes. Embossed into the pale bone was a familiar symbol.

The hand clutching the barbed hourglass.

I found you, bastard! The man in white was my target.

The visions faded, and Darren winced in pain as blood dripped from his wound. Only a second had passed, and I leaned back, letting go of him, spitting out the rancid tang.

“Thank you for your help.”

“I’m free to go, right? You promised.”

I shoved my chitin sword through the bottom of Darren’s mouth, into his brain and out the top of his head.

His eyes glazed over, and his jaw went slack, opening just enough, so part of my sword was visible poking through the roof of his mouth. Blood poured out of his lips to soak into his shirt.

I withdrew the blade as Darren slide down the wall to lay in a heap on the pavestones in an ever-growing pool of his own blood.

“I lied.”

Chapter 23 - Chains of the Past

“Good riddance,” I spat, stepping over his rotten corpse.

As soon as the fight ended, my nascent power flooded out of my system, leaving me weak. I feel different, strange. The magic inside my heart burned furiously, but inside that heat, a blizzard raged. The icy black magic was stronger; it pulsed through my heart, melding with the fire of the Hive magic.

I just made a deal with the devil, wonder what it’s going to cost me?

I picked up my fallen weapons and stepped inside the doorway to the Rose, stopping to look at the doorman. “Sorry you died because of me,” I whispered to the corpse.

My apology fell on dead ears. It was for my benefit alone. The dead have the luxury of being unburdened by such concerns as want.

Once more, I walked through the darkened hallway of the Rose. Phineas sat in the same booth, looking smug and content, counting a huge pile of gold. That just further damns him. He sold us out!

He looked up as I approached. His small eyes bulged at the sight of me, as he choked back a yelp of fright and tried to leap out of the booth.

My foot caught his knee, dislocating it with a sick pop, followed by a high-pitched shriek of pain. A few of the other patrons looked around at the noise, saw us, and went back to minding their own business. Wise of them.

“Hello, again, friend.”

Phineas ignored me and attempted to hobble away on his one good leg. I kicked his other leg out from under him, sending him crashing into a nearby table. They toppled over in his wake.

“Where you off to in such a hurry?”

He climbed to his feet, and I kicked him right back down. He sprawled out over the tables and chairs. I knelt and shattered his arm at the elbow. He screamed even louder this time, his cries echoing through the hushed bar.

Our little show had garnered the interest of most of the shady patrons, who had stopped their dealings to watch me break every bone in the weasel’s body.

“Get the fuck up!”

Phineas obliged and weakly rose to his feet, supporting himself as best he could with one leg. He leaned against one of the support beams to balance himself.

“Duran, I’m sorry, I couldn’t turn down the money,” he confessed. Not even bothering trying to lie to me.

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “You’re sorry? Fuck your sorry!”

I threw him across the room to slam against the bar top. Jackson gave me an exasperated look as Phineas bled onto his counter. I grabbed Phineas by the throat and spoke to the bartender.

“Ale,” I said, tossing him a gold.

Jackson sighed, but poured me the drink, sliding it to me with a warning. “You know I called the guard, right?”

I took the ale, downing it, washing the last remnants of blood from my mouth, and shrugged. “Won’t make a difference, but sorry for trashing the place. I’ll pay for the damages.”

Jackson gave me a half nod and a grunt before going back to minding his own business. I eased my grip on Phineas, he gasped, trying to breathe normally again. Enjoy those breaths. You won’t have many more. As he stopped wheezing, I clamped tight over his windpipe again.

“Tell me what I want to know, and this stops,” I said.

He struggled against me, but he was far too weak. After a minute, I let him breathe.

“I can’t. He’ll kill me.” He coughed.

In a rage, I took hold of his hand and slammed my empty beer mug down on it. Fingers snapped, twisting in odd directions and glass shattered, piercing the soft flesh. Crimson ran out and down the dark wood. Dark enough that you couldn’t even tell it was blood.

“Tell me!”

Gripping his hand tight, I pushed up the sleeve of his coat, took the jagged edge of my glass handle, and ripped chunks of flesh from his arm. Ichor welled from the split gashes in his skin, spilling even more onto the counter. Phineas gurgled as I mutilated what remained of his hand, turning it into nothing but so much shredded meat and gore. Flecks of bone peeked through the hues of pink and red.

“Kill me. Just Kill me.”

Like hell, you're getting off that easy. I raised the glass shard to his temple and dug in, ruby droplets slithered down his temple. I was ready to flay his very face from his skull if need be.

“Stop…just stop. I’ll talk, I’ll talk.”

I