The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4) by C.J. Aaron (graded readers txt) 📕

from Elias. The air in the chamber compressed as if the atmosphere was choked by the overwhelming hatred and fear.

He watched in horror as the blackened version of Elias cut through another pair of Le’Dral’s guards. They had been in the process of diligently caring for the recovering tributes. Both had been halted by the latest wave of paralyzing fear. Elias butchered them without compassion. His motions only slowed for a moment. He was moving by the time their lifeless bodies reached the ground. He made no attempt to avoid the sprays of blood. His cloak was slick with crimson. Vibrant red dots stained the pale skin of his face.

Andr’s pace never slowed through the onslaught. He skipped over the ailing bodies lined up on the floor. He hurdled a guard who was frozen in fear, curled up on the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. The trajectory of his sprint led him straight toward the still forms of Ryl and Kaep along the rear wall of the tree’s chamber. His feet skidded across the earthen floor as his breakneck pace halted before his immobile companions. A small cloud of dust flowed beyond him. The patter of tiny chunks of dirt was audible throughout the chamber as they rained down on Ryl.

Elias slowed as the mercenary turned to meet his advance. His arms hung slack at his sides as he came to a stop a few meters from Andr. For a moment, all was still in the chamber. Most, Cray included, were seemingly paralyzed with the abject fear that weighed them down. Blood dripped from the tip of Elias’s sword, beating a steady cadence on the hard-packed floor.

Andr stood at the ready, his body blocking Elias from the phrenics at his rear. His sword was drawn though he held the tip low. He waited, anticipating the corrupted tribute’s next move. He exuded a confidence that was palpable. To Cray, it was an awe-inspiring sight.

Elias paced slowly. His head cocked slightly side to side as his blackened eyes darted across the room; they were chilling, cold, calculating. Both men were locked in a duel of preparation.

Anticipation.

It was Elias who struck the first blow.

The attack came not with the sword, but with emotion. His feeling pulsed outward, suffocating the room with a raw, potent force that dwarfed his previous onslaughts. Around him, the chamber dimmed as a wave of blackness swelled from his core. The dull light of the flickering lanterns mounted to the walls faded as if the darkness was too thick for their rays to penetrate.

All through the room, those not incapacitated by injury shrank away. They cowered at the sensory attack that hammered into them all, driving them into the floor. Cray was hardly immune from the assault. His heart raced, thundering in his ears as it hammered against his chest. Panic surged through him.

His body cried out. The urge to flee was intense, yet his feet were rooted to the ground. The internal torment was agonizing. It was as if his body and mind were about to rend him in two.

He raised his hands instinctually, clamping down on the muscles in his core to protect himself as the wave of shadow that accompanied the emotion slammed into him.

It was cold.

Hateful.

Cray struggled to maintain his view of the two warriors on the opposite side of the room.

Of all in the room, Andr seemed entirely unfazed by the onslaught. His eyes were locked onto Elias.

Focused.

His right hand squeezed the hilt of a naked blade. He flexed his fingers, finding a comfortable hold on the wicked, curved sword they’d confiscated from the ill-fated Lei Guard. Andr’s knuckles whitened under the force before relaxing again into their natural lethal grip. The tip of the blade remained angled downward toward the earthen floor at his side, yet his body was coiled in preparation.

The quiet that blanketed the chamber was deafening.

Yet it wasn’t to last.

Elias’s blackened eyes glared at Andr. The malice in their intent was palpable. The corners of his lips curled into a snarl that was eerily feral. In the flickering light in the room, dimmed by the wave of blackness, his teeth glistened.

Andr met his agitated stare with a look of intensity that was chilling in its calmness. The mercenary rolled his shoulders as the hint of a smirk tugged up on the corner of his lips.

With a growl, guttural and wild, Elias charged forward.

Andr leapt forward a few steps, meeting the powered charge without faltering. Their blades met, sparking as they slammed into each other. The movements of Elias were dizzying in their sheer speed and ferocity. Andr, his back to Ryl and Kaep, struggled valiantly to maintain in the face of the onslaught. Across his garments, thin razor cuts began to blossom. The slashes leaked crimson, quickly staining the mercenary’s tattered clothing.

Andr moved with a shocking speed that closely matched the attacking demon. His effort, dauntless as it might have been, was destined to fail. His actions were solely on the defensive. The snarl grew across the face of the wicked, shadowed version of Elias as blow after blow began to strike home. His awe of the mercenary’s defense morphed into utter horror as the reality of the situation dawned on Cray.

His eyes roved the room. Most men and women capable of holding a blade, guard and tribute alike, were pinned to the floor, victims of the oppressive wave of hate, fear, and malice that crushed them down.

Still, Andr fought.

His defense was failing. Cray knew it was but moments before he watched the mercenary—revered by the tributes as Ryl’s savior, and one who had risked all to see to their freedom—was to be cut down before his eyes. Only days earlier, the man had thrown himself in front of the blade from atop his charging horse to save him.

The frustration that burned within his body raged at the sight. At the affront to his eyes. Cray felt as if his blood boiled as the anger took over.

He