Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
However, Abel lacked the one thing that his father didn’t: the ability to shut off his emotions. Abel didn’t strive to do it right then either. He was so set on being the one to kill Cain that he didn’t focus on anything else—not even his troops or fellow Aeons. As such, he hadn’t yet realized that his numbers had dropped.
Demons and vampires were blasting the troops with offensive powers. The fey were attacking with magick and shooting arrows that were coated in magickal dust that could cause many things from memory loss to sensory paralysis. Dragons were breathing fire, wind, and ice at the troops, when they weren’t letting out blasts of water that put out fires.
Much like Cain himself, the dragons struck at the cliffs as well as their enemies. Many fissures had now formed in said cliffs, and bits of rock often tumbled downward, forcing the troops to either back up or be prepared to plummet to the ground. Each time a soldier fell, other townspeople were there to take them down, including the shifters, lycans, and berserkers.
Badly injured residents often retreated into buildings where healers waited. Other townspeople would quickly replace the wounded on the battlefield, who would retreat when they themselves required healing and be instantly replaced by the newly healed fighters.
Yelling something Cain couldn’t quite make out, Abel slammed up his hand. Ice-cold air then battered at Cain’s face, snatching his breath and prickling his skin like chilblains.
Motherfucker. Cain sharply flicked his hand, retaliating with a thick gust of power that whipped the troops shielding Abel and bashed at the cliff. Some troops fell back, knocking into Abel, while others tumbled forward as yet more rock broke away from the cliff.
Landing flat on his ass, Abel looked around and seemed to finally notice that many of his troops had met their doom. He let out an enraged roar that delighted Cain’s creature and then ordered a line of the remaining troops to descend on the town . . . which had been exactly what Cain had been waiting for.
*
Rushing through the manor’s hallway, Wynter could hear the sounds of battle coming from outside. The noise level was horrendous. There were screams, howls, snarls, death cries, the crackling of magick, the hissing of flames, the blasts of dragon’s breath, and the whooshing of arrows.
And then came an almighty roar of anger.
She all but burst out of the building with her coven hot on her heels and raced down the driveway as she took in the chaos around them. Flares and sparks of magick and power lit up the night. Billows of smoke—some from fires, some from extinguished fires—stained the air here and there. All sorts of colorful orbs made up of various things such as energy, light, magick, and pure power whipped back and forth. The flapping of dragon wings cast shadows over the town as the huge creatures screeched and attacked.
Moreover, troops were clambering down the cliffs from every direction, clearly intending to pour out onto the town. The hooves or paws of various shapeshifting creatures thundered along the ground as they charged at said troops.
Outside the iron gates, she looked up at the manor’s roof, seeing that the Ancients were launching power in pretty much every direction, exchanging “blows” with the Aeons and magick-using troops on the cliffs.
Just then, Cain let out a surge of hissing, popping power that rocketed straight up toward the dark sky, lighting it up like a firework. Mere moments later, battle cries came from the near distance. Many troops on the cliffs whirled as they realized that people were now coming at them from behind. People that Wynter knew were in the Ancients’ service and had been called on to fight.
She smiled.
“Let’s move,” Wynter told her coven, her blood bubbling with battle adrenaline. As they’d pre-agreed to concentrate on any troops that tried invading the town, they made a crazy dash for the woods, ready to cut them down. She called to her sword and flexed her hand around the hilt, her magick humming in her belly.
They’d no sooner stepped into the woods than a group of intruders came straight at Wynter and her coven, carrying swords and/or spheres of magick. The horrific state of her seemed to take them off-guard, as did the mark on her face, but they didn’t hesitate to strike.
Wynter lifted her sword, deflecting the sphere that whooshed toward her head, and then charged at the bastard who’d thrown it. He brought up his sword fast, and their blades met with a fierce clash. They went at each other hard, slicing and ducking. He cursed long and loud when she first nicked his skin, and she knew he felt the scuttle of phantom insects courtesy of her blade’s runes.
With immortality set into her cells, her reflexes were better, her strikes landed harder, and she moved with more speed. Her opponent couldn’t keep up and quickly buckled under the pressure, inadvertently giving her the opening she needed. Wynter thrust her sword into his gut, impaling him.