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

The Horde had come here hunting flesh of a different sort.

A muted, agonized wail of a guard sounded from inside the house. There had been no sign of Fay. Breila was absent from the bodies of both her guards and Lord Eligar’s troops.

A second scream from the interior of the house sent a shiver through his spine.

It was a woman’s scream.

There was a sudden burst of energy. It was warm, welcoming. He recognized the sensation in an instant. He recalled the last time he’d experienced it with startling clarity.

Emotions were to be feared. Tempered by the unawakened.

What he felt was a raw outpouring of emotion.

Something had changed in Aelin.

Ryl dipped into the speed, reaching the doors to the mansion in a flash. A search of the area showed that the Horde had nearly reached the glowing signature of the tribute. He hardened the woodskin on the right side of his body. The skin on his shoulder solidified, forming a solid crust.

Dropping his shoulder, he barreled into the door at speed. The force of his assault and the solid woodskin struck like a battering ram. There was little resistance, though the pain that lanced through his arm was definite. The panel exploded inward, leaving a deadly shower of wooden sharps and splinters hanging in the air.

The scene that greeted him was horrific. The polished white stone of the floor was dyed with growing stains of crimson. The bodies of the guards had literally been torn to shreds. Random, indescribable chunks of flesh and entrails stuck to the walls, some draped over the furniture. A solitary foul demon gnawed casually on a corpse, tearing large chunks of flesh. It flashed a pointed look of anger, as Ryl had interrupted its meal.

The stench that met his nostrils was as potent as the devastation. The sickening concoction of the telltale rotted scent of the Horde mixed with the odors of death was becoming alarmingly too familiar. His stomach churned in revolution as he brushed through the cloud of wooden debris floating slowly through the air.

The solitary harrier would have to wait.

Aelin needed him.

The sense of the tribute had expanded since Ryl had felt the outpouring of power from the boy. He darted through the blood-soaked entry chamber, tracking the motion of two Horde as they converged upon the tribute. The scratching of their giant claws and the tearing of wood signaled that Aelin’s position was perilous.

Moving through the chamber, he darted down the first hallway to the right. The wind grew to a gale as it whipped around his right arm. His phrenic cloak billowed out behind him like a cloud. Making an immediate left at the junction, he located his quarry. Perhaps ten meters ahead of him, a pair of harriers took turns raking their jagged claws against a wooden door. Each strike tore off chunks. They paused only to allow the other to slam its body weight into the panel.

Ryl marveled at the strength that it must have taken to withstand the assault.

After all, Aelin had been uncommonly strong from the onset.

There was no time to waste. No rules of engagement to be followed. The Horde were focused on their prey, ignoring the commotion from the entryway.

Ryl unleashed the wind from his right arm. He felt the power flow through him in a steady swirling torrent. Chairs and small tables, carefully adorned with vases and various works of sculpture or art, lined the wide hallway. Priceless paintings and tapestries filled in the blank spaces on the walls.

The storm that raged from his arms shattered the furniture, tearing the artwork from the walls. The wind with its deadly debris ripped into the unprepared Horde. Their lanky bodies were tossed with reckless abandon, chewed to ribbons as the shards of wood, stone and glass blasted past and through them. The disfigured bodies smashed into the staircase with a sickening crunch. It was a moment before the final piece of shrapnel settled to the floor.

Ryl could feel the others approach from his rear even before he saw them, before they announced their presence with a pair of hideous wails. In unison, they charged. The cleared-out hallway was plenty wide to accommodate their side-by-side assault.

Their motions, though unnaturally fast, were sluggish to his. Their wicked claws sparked as they scraped at the polished stone underfoot. Ryl growled as he charged, lighting one of the Leaves in his left hand. He sprinted down the center of the hall. With the moment of impact a mere breath away, he dug his feet in, sliding to the right as he came to a rapid stop. The closest harrier on the right scraped across the floor as its claws struggled to arrest its progress. It lashed out with both hands. Ryl brought the flaming, translucent blade upward, severing both arms of the Horde just above the wrists.

The beast at its side slid wildly past. Its legs churned furiously as it sought to reverse its direction.

The dismembered demon raged in agony. Black blood pumped from the stumps where its hands used to reside. Ryl grabbed it by its left arm, spinning as he torqued the creature around his body. The rapid, well-timed rotation ended the determined recovery of its stumbling companion. The two bodies collided with a shriek and groan. The speed battered both creatures into the wall behind them. The first crushed his companion between it and the wood behind. The panels and substructure cracked yet held up to the force.

Ryl leapt to the side, ramming the glowing green blade through the head of the first creature. Black, putrid blood and brain matter splattered across the wall as the blade pierced the second demon’s skull as well. Ryl wrenched the glowing blade free, letting his hold of the speed fade.

He walked casually to the side, eagerly avoiding the river of gore that vomited from the dead Horde. Chunks of wood and glass shattered to the floor. Shreds of tapestry and artwork fluttered harmlessly in the air.

“Aelin, you can come out