Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II Hodges, Aaron (simple e reader TXT) 📖

time she only threw herself against the warrior’s chest. Muffled sobs sounded as she hugged him and Erika looked away, grief touching her as well.

She sat back on her haunches, unable to believe the warrior was really gone. They had survived the creatures of the earth together, withstood the assault of the Tangata, escaped the soldiers of Flumeer. After so much, he had seemed invincible, able to overcome any obstacle.

Now he was dead.

The last warrior of Calafe, her final connection with a past she had tried for half her life to bury.

Or perhaps not. Looking down at the face of the warrior, she was reminded of all those lost refugees of Calafe camped outside the Flumeeren capital. She had looked down upon those sorry men and women, condemned them for their weakness, judged them for failing to rise above the destruction of their nation.

But the truth was, Erika was the one who had failed. The queen was a tyrant, had schemed and plotted to murder her father, to see Calafe fall, all so Flumeer could rise from the ashes of their kingdom. And Erika had served her. The thought was like bile in her mouth.

Slowly she rose and turned to look down upon the valley below. The squat building still awaited them. The secrets of the Gods, of her gauntlet. Drawing in a breath, she took a step towards the valley.

A sharp crack from overhead brought her to a halt and she swung around, thinking it must be Maisie. But the spy’s eyes were on the sky. The hairs on the back of Erika’s neck stood on end as she followed the direction of the woman’s gaze in time to glimpse a flash of green and blue. Then something solid slammed into the ground nearby, sending a shower of stones flying outwards from the figure that had landed. Two more followed as the first straightened.

The breath caught in Erika’s throat as she looked upon the Gods. Two were male with wings of emerald and sapphire feathers, stretched wide for all to see. The last female bore wings of purest white, an angel from the heavens. The sight robbed Erika of her courage and she slumped to her knees, unable to tear her gaze from their glory.

Beside her, finally Cara moved. Releasing Romaine, she rose. A tremor shook her body as she cast one last look at the fallen Calafe, then she stepped past him to face the three Gods.

“Hello, brother,” she whispered.

The first of the Gods stepped towards her, emerald wings lifting in response. Eyes the colour of flames inspected the little Goddess, before darting to the bodies of Romaine and Yasin. Upon sighting the fallen cutthroat, his jaw tightened and he returned his gaze to Cara. A look of pain crossed his face as he shook his head.

“Ah, sister,” he whispered. “What have you done?”

Epilogue The Tangata

Adonis gasped as consciousness returned in a sudden flash of agony. He groaned, struggling to suck a breath into lungs that felt as though they were drowning. Tasting blood in his mouth, he rolled onto his side and spat it out. It didn’t help. He clenched his fists, struggling against the pain, against the call of unconsciousness.

So you live.

A shiver ran down Adonis’s spine and looking around, he found Maya standing nearby. The stony eyes pierced him as she crossed the courtyard and stopped beside him.

Where is the human? she asked, crouching.

Adonis swallowed, trying to draw back his memories. There was a warning in the Old One’s voice. She would not tolerate failure. He had to be strong. Gathering himself, he pulled himself to his knees. Agony threatened to swallow him and a trickle of hot liquid ran down his chest. Gritting his teeth, he pressed a hand to his wound to slow the bleeding.

Gone, he replied, meeting her gaze.

Maya did not offer him a hand, though her eyes remained on him, as though waiting. Clenching his fists, Adonis forced himself to his feet. Pain radiated from the wound. The spear had punctured his left lung, but thankfully missed his spine. Again he felt the drowning sensation and for a second his vision spun. He held on, clinging to consciousness until it cleared. He was of the third generation; he would not allow a mere human to strike him down.

And yet it had. How? Adonis gritted his teeth. He would be sure to ask the human when he caught it.

A smile twisted Maya’s lips at the sight of him standing and she reached out to stroke his cheek. Adonis sighed, some of the pain receding at her touch.

It will not get far, he breathed. I will hunt the human down, bring it back for you.

No, Maya replied softly.

She took his hand then and led him from the courtyard, out into the street. The sun had risen unnoticed as he slept, and now it shone brightly in a cloudless sky. In the distance, the snow-capped peaks shimmered in the morning light.

Show me again my enemy, Maya’s voice whispered into his mind.

Unbidden, Adonis found himself back on the banks of the Illmoor, watching as the Anahera fought her way through his warrior pairs. She had batted them away like mere children at first, wings and feet and fists making short work of the fifth generation Tangata. Yet after each blow, his warriors had risen and come for her again, fighting on until eventually even the Anahera’s strength had faded.

She does not kill, Maya’s voice whispered over the scene, and Adonis again found himself standing in the streets of New Nihelm. The Old One looked at him, eyes alight with bloodlust. My enemies have grown soft.

Adonis swallowed as he found himself trapped in that steely gaze. What do you wish of me, my love?

Laughter rasped from Maya’s throat as her eyes returned to the mountains.

It is time we brought war to the Gods of man.

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HERE ENDS BOOK TWO OF

DESCENDANTS OF THE FALL

The story continues in:

Age of Gods

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