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

but then he rallies. With a grunt that echoes across the clearing, he forces himself back to his feet, holding the body cradled in his arms. He turns and begins to make his way back to us.

The other Gnoll crouches, ready to run forward to help.

I quickly move over to Nian and grab his shoulder. “No, wait, it’s a trap. We’ll get caught too.”

The Gnoll is tense next to me, muscles almost quivering with the need to dash forward and run to his packmates. He glares at me and is clearly torn as to what to do.

I turn back to watch Thirax's progress. His movements have slowed even more. Each step seems to cost him the closer he gets to us. I have to stop myself from also running out there to help him. Everything about this screams 'TRAP' to me. It’s making me sick to my stomach to just stand and watch Thirax's efforts.

He comes closer to the edge of the fog, and I can see that it's Des he's trying to save. He stumbles and almost drops him, but once more, he regains his footing and his grip at the last second. A final step saps the last of his strength, and his legs give way. With a last, monumental effort, he falls backward, taking the smaller man with him, still cradled in his arms. He lands flat on his back so he doesn't crush Des beneath his own dead weight. The mist is too thick for me to even guess at the color of their tattoos.

This is too much for Nian. He pulls away from me with a roar and sprints to his fallen friend. Truth be told, it’s too much for me as well. I follow just a few steps behind him. Thirax went down near the edge of the fog, so maybe we can get to him and drag both he and Des out. Hopefully, getting back to cover before whoever set this trap notices what we are doing.

We make it about halfway across the clearing when a sudden movement pops up in my peripheral vision. I turn my head and raise the mace; at the same time, a brilliant flash of lightning arcs from the top of a wagon. It hits Nian and blows him off his feet.

My eyes are dazzled by the flash, and I smell burning ozone and hair. I dive into a roll and come up on my feet closer to the wagon. The mace is useless at this distance, and I already dropped the empty pistol back in the woods.

“Aye there, squire!” I hear the distinctive sound of a pistol being cocked. “I'll give ye a choice now, mate. A little jolt of Ben Franklin's finest or a small ball of lead?” Jesse's distinct accent is now muddled with laughter.

I get a good look at him standing atop the wagon and bathed in moonlight. In his right hand, he holds a copper rod tipped in a clear crystal, in his left, his black-powder revolver.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jesse? How could you kill everyone? After all, we've been through together?” I ask, disgusted with him.

He laughs in my face and points the copper rod at my chest. I tense to move, to dodge to the side, anything… and before I know it, I am riding a wave of electricity with no chance to go from thought to action. There goes any hope of dodging a lightning bolt! Every muscle locks up and painfully contracts until I feel bones on the verge of snapping from the strain. My brain seems to short circuit as I fall to the ground. This time, I'm grateful when everything goes black.

They say that if a person is woken up every day in a painful manner for long enough, they will eventually get used to it and not be bothered by it. It's a load of shit! I've woken up countless mornings for endless days now, suffering from various sprains, strains, broken legs, cracked ribs, a fractured nose… you get the idea… and I've never once thought, 'Eh, it’s not so bad this time.’ Each time hurts in its own unique way, and this awakening is no different.

I come back to consciousness with both of my arms wrenched behind my back and shackled together tight enough to cut off circulation to my hands. My tongue doesn't seem to work so well, so I groan in protest and try to pull my hands free.

“Tarnation and bloody hell! You're awake! I reckon that makes ye tougher than the Gnoll. Now, hold still before I blast ye again!” Jesse threatens as he tries to wrestle my numbed hands together. I realize my right hand isn't locked yet, and I redouble my efforts to break away.

His grip eases for a second, just long enough for him to punch me in the back of the head. My chin hits the ground, and either his knuckles broke on my skull, or that sound was just my teeth slamming together. I see stars again but manage to roll hard enough to the side to knock him off my back.

The right shackle falls free, and I make a move. Swinging the loose shackle with everything I have, the heavy iron lock on the end of the chain arcs through the air and smashes into Jesse's jaw. In the blink of an eye, I see his lower jaw deform, teeth and blood ejecting from his shattered mouth. His body twists through the air and lands face down.

I try to jump to my feet, but I find most of my muscles don't want to work the way I need them to. My legs are stiff and twitching as if residual electricity is still running through them. Damn, I hate getting electrocuted.

I stumble over and plant a rib-shattering kick right into Jesse's side. He flops onto his back, and I drop down, one knee on his chest, and begin hammering punches across his face.