Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88613 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88613 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
This was all news to me. I was after these paintings for my own reasons—reasons that had nothing to do with a cult hell-bent on bringing back the Chaos King.
“I’d rather not,” I said, and without a second thought, I shot two, three, four icicles at the large red targets.
Each icicle was intercepted and sliced in half by the swords. The second cultist raised his hands and launched a lance-shaped weave of red mana aimed directly at my heart. I dropped into a roll and heard it smash against the wall, disappearing as it left behind a fist-sized hole that looked directly out to the sky. That’s when the other Marvel seemed to shake himself out of his fear. He shouted for the cultists’ attention and whipped his arm up and outward.
Silky sky-blue mana wound itself around both of the cultists’ heads before disappearing. They suddenly looked around the room as if in shock, blinking, rubbing at their eyes.
An illusion spell. Whatever they were seeing wasn’t real, and it also wouldn’t last very long. I took the opening and shot to my feet, barreling toward the two cultists. One of them managed to fight through the illusion and saw me coming at the last minute, dodging a fatal blow from the blades of ice in my hands.
The other wasn’t so lucky. I plunged the ice directly into the woman’s chest, blood coloring the clear blade and soaking through the already red robes. She let out a shrill shout before collapsing forward. I let go of the blade, leaving it impaled in the cultist as she fell to the ground with a dull thump.
“Watch out!”
The Marvel who initially walked in on the scene shouted from behind me. I whipped around to see the remaining cultist whipping two thick threads of ruby-red mana. I ducked before one could latch around my neck but couldn’t dodge the one that wrapped around my ankle.
A single yank was all it took to knock me down, my back hitting the floor and landing in a slick pool of blood seeping from the dead cultist next to me. Another yank dragged me through the blood toward the cultist with a glimmering red axe in his free hand. I threw three shards of ice at him, all three being deflected by the axe.
An axe that was now in swinging distance of my balls. He lifted it, the red mana around my ankle growing painfully tight, my balls involuntarily sucking themselves back into my body.
That’s when the Marvel decided to be useful again. Instead of using his powers, he simply shouted “Over here, asshole!”. The cultist passed.
It was all I needed. I summoned all the force I had and yanked back my leg, the cultist being caught off guard and falling forward.
Directly onto the spear of ice I had conjured in my hands.
His eyes opened wide. Blood dripped from his lips. That creepy-as-hell red brand still burned bright and angry as the life slowly seeped out of him.
“Thanks,” I said to the Marvel as I pushed the dead cultist off me. He landed next to his friend, their crimson robes matching the blood on the floor.
“I… what the hell is happening here?” The Marvel blinked his eyes.
“I’ve got the same question.” I glanced at the destroyed painting, then at the dead fae, then back at the Marvel. He scratched at the back of his head, his dark brown hair buzzed short. It gave him a kind of military look that I was pretty fond of.
“You’re the one who killed three people!”
“Two,” I corrected. “She was already dead when I got here,” I said, pointing to the fae.
The Marvel arched a brow and crossed his arms, covering the front of his black-and-gray T-shirt. “I’m going to need more than just your word for that.”
“Unfortunately, that’s all you’re going to get.”
The Marvel raised a hand. Cyan-blue threads of mana appeared, swirling around his forearm and balling up above his open fist. If he was trying to threaten me, it wasn’t working, especially since the mana flickered and disappeared as quickly as he summoned it. His face briefly cracked but he hid the disappointment behind a neutral poker face. “My name is Caleb Forrester. I work with the Forrester and Grant Detective Agency, and I’m going to need you to come back to the office with me.”
“Or what?” I asked, already sensing the nerves that wound tight around this handsome man’s gut. I started to feel like a tiger toying with a mouse.
“Or I’ll be forced to bring you back against your will.”
I had to laugh at that. To Caleb’s credit, he sounded dead serious.
“I just took out two Marvels and barely broke a sweat. You really want to threaten to kidnap me?”
“It’s not kidnapping,” he said, stumbling slightly over his words.
Cute.
“It’s an interrogation,” I clarified for him.