Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) Keith Ahrens (best e reader for epub txt) 📖

He hits the ground and tumbles into a low, forward roll as the dragon turns and attacks again. Teeth clack together mere inches above the tumbling elf. Then he abruptly changes direction and avoids a swatting claw that slams into the ground.

“Bide your shot until you see its unarmored flank,” the elf says from behind me and to my right, his voice steady and monotone.

I turn in mild surprise and see the battered elf standing next to me and staring intently into the mirror. The silvered glass is at arm's length in his left hand, and his right hand is poised behind it, rapidly going through a series of gestures. In the mirror itself, I can see the dragon chasing after the 'elf.'

I look back and see the same scene, except it's playing out on the road. The other elf (image of the elf?) ducks one more snap of the dragon's jaws and then makes a bad move. He leaps into the swampy edge of the lake and lands knee-deep in thick mud. Large rocks jut out of the muck, further limiting his chances of escape.

The water dragon crowds the edge of the swamp and roars in triumph as the elf sinks further into the muck and cowers in fear and despair. With an evil leer, the dragon opens its mouth as wide as it can go and then strikes down at the vulnerable elf.

Its long, sharp teeth shatter as its jaw splits open past its natural range. The lower jaw snaps in at least two places as the illusion of the elf fades and reveals a hidden boulder. The rock shatters from the force of the crushing bite, sending sharp shards down its throat and in all directions.

The water dragon rolls over on its side in agony, broken fangs and clotted blood falling from its ruined jaws. Its soft, pale belly and flank now lie exposed, so I waste no time.

I throw all my concentration and focus into the copper rod. The crystal flares, and I feel a recoil unlike any firearm I've ever shot. For one, it doesn't end, and two, it feels like it’s trying to jump out of my hand. All this is making it very difficult to aim, so I grab it with my other hand to help steady the blast.

So far, I've set the treetops above the dragon on fire, but now with a steadier aim, I direct the fluctuating bolt of lightning more or less at its unarmored belly. It screams again as the electricity superheats the water and moisture in its skin and organs. A lot of people don't realize that electricity can travel over skin and also along all the nerve pathways in a body. Nerve cells act just like a normal electrical wire in the way they transmit electricity everywhere, short-circuiting every muscle they reach. But this wasn't the most gruesome part. I stare, open mouth and surprised, at how it also burns a deep hole in the dragon's flesh and roasts it from the inside out.

Its legs and long neck twitch and spasm, and the dragon cannot move at all, except for those involuntary twitches. Its claws dig massive gouges in the soft dirt and mud.

I keep the lightning directed at the same spot for a few moments, and I watch as the small scales blacken, swell, and burst a hole in the monster’s flank. Gore and charred bone explode from the rendered flesh. I keep pouring on the lightning. I don't know what it will take to kill this thing, but I'm not taking any chances.

Smoke begins to pour from the hole, and I see flickers of flames. I break my connection with the rod, and the lightning cuts off like flipping a switch. The giant body of the water dragon stops shaking and slumps to the ground, its fractured jaws splashing down in the thick, bloody mud.

Just now, I realize how hot the copper rod has gotten. The leather wrap is smoldering, and I feel the heat through my gloves. I drop it to the ground to let it cool down for a bit.

I turn back to the elf and see him lying on his back, semi-conscious and vulnerable. I walk slowly over to him; my mace is now in my hand, and I don't remember pulling it. I look down at the bastard that has tried to kill me several times since meeting him less than an hour ago. Knowing the power this elf can throw around, it would be stupid for me to leave him here. After all, he helped guard the gate back to my home. He's one of them.

He looks up at me, eyes glassy and unfocused. Defenseless.

I think back to the long months I've endured, the daily beatings, the broken bones and burns, the hopeless suffering of my fellow prisoners. I ponder the borderline malnourishment, the cold nights forced to sleep on moldy straw and rough wood. I think about the life I was torn from, the family and friends, the ex-girlfriends. Everything I've ever known.

Can I truly hold this one elf accountable for the untold and unquantifiable misery of so many? Maybe. Probably. Hell, I'm not a lawyer or an ethicist. I just know what the right thing to do is. But I also know who I am and what I am not.

I am not a cold-blooded killer, and I like to think, that for right now, in this moment, I'm above revenge, regardless of how good it would feel or how I could rationalize it later.

This would be murder, not a fight for survival. It is a line I'm unwilling to cross. Or maybe I'm just too damned tired to think clearly.

The elf stirs and grins up at me somewhat stupidly. He moves his hand toward an inside pocket of his robe. I step on his wrist firmly, but gently. Well, maybe not that gentle. Crouching down, I reach into his pocket, watching him for a reaction. I