Wrath of the Fallen by Steve Gilmore EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Author: Steve Gilmore
- Language: English
- Genre: Metaphysical Fantasy eBooks
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
“Is that all you’ve got?” He growled in a nightmarish, gravelly voice,
slowly circling me like a brazen predator toying with a wounded prey.
I was bleeding. Badly.
Everything was blurry.
Muted.
Dark.
A deafening buzz of screeching static filled my ears.
My head pulsed with repeated crushing swells of unknowable pain.
I couldn’t keep this up.
The deep gash running across my midsection stung like a raging
wildfire as blood trickled down my already sullied jeans and pooled at my
feet.
He was too strong.
Too fast.
I had to end it — now.
There was no other way.
He’d left me no choice.
That goddamned son of a bitch left me no choice.
Mustering all my strength, I pushed myself off the ground. Not quite
ready to get to my feet, I just sat there on my knees and despondently stared
at the ground for a long second. This shouldn’t be happening but it was.
“Don’t make me do this!” I barked, burying my emotions as I
summoned all my unnatural ability and defiantly stood to face him. “I’m
begging you.”
In response, the mouth of the infernal, fifteen-foot monster standing
opposite me curled into a harrowing smile proudly displaying row upon row
of barbed, blackened teeth. Seething streams of viscous, ashen drool
bubbled from the corners of its massive jaw and steadily oozed down its
veiny, sculpted chest like snaking rivers of unnatural lava.
Fixing me with a poisoned glare, the creature’s unnerving red eyes
danced with a fiery madness as every chiseled, sinewy muscle making up
its hulking red frame flexed and bulged from the mocking, guttural laugh
that boomed from somewhere deep within its massive throat.
“The great Dean Robinson,” it taunted, “begs me.”
His mind was muddled.
Broken.
The man I knew had slipped into the ether.
Only the beast remained.
Tightening the grip on the hilt of my otherworldly gladiator sword, the
cloak flared about my shoulders, sending rippling waves of divine Wrath
coursing throughout my being like an electric current.
“You’re not thinking straight,” I grunted, as my wounds instantly healed
themselves and argent metal gauntlets encased my hands in a spectral flash.
“Remember who you are.”
“And who is that?”
“My friend. You’re my friend.”
“Friend,” the creature scoffed. A fine layer of orange flame silhouetted
the scaly, blotched skin pulled tautly over a freakish skeletal frame.
“Stand down, goddamn you!”
“God has not damned me, my friend. Quite the contrary. It is you who
are damned.”
Holding out one of his impossibly large hands, he proceeded to
mockingly admire the ghastly trio of razor-tipped talons jutting out from its
clenched fist. Composed of jagged ashen bone and stained deep with
streaks of haunting crimson, the grim instruments of eviscerating death
forbiddingly gleamed in the moonlight as he loomed over me like an eager
executioner waiting to carry out his appointed duty.
“Now, tell me,” he growled. He was frothing at the mouth like a crazestricken animal. “Is that all you’ve got?”
“Not everything. Not yet.”
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