Extract 1

Year: 2500 AHV (After Holy Victory)

Age: The Late Industra Era

Country: The Kingdom of Camaria

 

 

Anargrin blinked as the cave was taken over by the calming, almost-dainty streams of midafternoon light filtered through the leaves and branches above. The stink of abundant pollen eclipsed the horrific stench of burned meat and fat. The crackling of flames was now the sweet singing of birds and the almost-constant chirping of the damnable cicadas. That cursed cave was only about fifteen kilometers northwest from here, but it was lifetimes ago. He wished he could forget, but the memory was just as clear as it was decades ago.

 

Anger, raw and powerful, sprouted through him. It caused him to clench his teeth and his fists. Did Kalthasin do that on purpose? Did he kill her like that because of the—he forced it inside, into hiding, as the sound of engines filtered through his enhanced ears. He doubted any of his companions would've heard it yet, as they wouldn't be able to see him in the underbrush like he could see them.

 

So it was soon to begin. He'd done this countless times now: kidnapping children.

 

 

For two weeks, they planned for this, set up for this. No less time for preparation would have sufficed, and in fact, Raleas would have preferred more time—much more time.

 

Raleas shook away the lamentation as she knelt among the underbrush, her sniper rifle's scope to her eye as she watched the truck bounce down the slick mud road, about half a kilometer away. The truck that contained the children was in the middle of a convoy of three others and five utes, all filled with soldiers. The groaning and grating of the engines was easily heard, even from here.

 

The truck was the primary target of what the Hunters called "The Kidnapping Convoy."

 

Raleas couldn't think of a more appropriate name, and the alliteration added irony to it. They loved their irony.

 

She glanced about. Only about two meters to her left was the mage and apprentice Hunter, Wilom. His lack of skill in stealth was evident. Raleas just hoped they were far enough from the road. The redheaded young man knelt like her, his staff in hand, his brow furrowed over blue eyes, but she could easily see the sweat beading on his broad forehead and half-circle sweat stains in the armpits of his robes. It was humid but not hot. The country of Camaria was so far north it wasn't known at all for being warm, even to Raleas's sensibilities.

 

Two others were hiding around too, one of whom Raleas could somewhat see, a mere shadow of a tall, thin woman who held a large double-headed ax.

 

Of the third, there was no sign at all.

 

Raleas smiled. He was the best, after all.

 

"Raleas, concentrate," Jelcine hissed from the shadows, making Raleas set her eyes back to her scope.

 

She was a sniper. Sentimental distractions were unbecoming of her.

 

The convoy came around the corner of the road.

 

It was almost time to act, and it needed to be to the exact second. It was on Wilom's shoulders, and it was then Raleas realized it might not be the heat making the young Hunter-apprentice sweat so much.

 

"Wilom," said Anargrin in a very familiar, soothing voice, although Raleas had no clue where it was coming from. "Are you ready?"

 

Wilom nodded, swallowed, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of a shaking hand. "I am master."

 

Wilom had joined them two years ago as Anargrin's apprentice. He was said to be among the best mages of his generation of Hunters, but little good at much else, especially everyday human interaction. Anargrin had been hesitant to allow such an inexperienced young man on their team. Still, he was eventually forced to, since Wilom had proven invaluable in assignments that called for little subtlety—assignments like this, when push came to shove.

 

"Okay, Wilom," said the elf. "You seem . . . a little nervous, but we'll be fine. Is everyone else ready?"

 

"Fuck yeah, you old fool," said Jelcine. "I was ready the second I was promoted to Hunterhood. I am frankly offended you had to ask."

 

Jelcine had been on the team for just over a year, having joined them, unofficially, when they were accidentally forced to work with her during an assignment. Hunters had been through the creatively called "ritual," which lengthened their life spans. Despite being in her eighties, she had never been promoted from vampire-Hunter status, even though most Hunters her age were infiltrators or black-ops agents. The Hunters never gave her an apprentice, although she was skilled and extensively lucky. Her ritual hadn't enhanced just her speed, agility, constitution, and regeneration factor, among many other things, but also her strength, far beyond the average Hunter. They said this was because of a one-in-a-million mutation. But everyone knew why she hadn't been promoted: due to her black-and-white worldview, volatile temper, and immaturity. Frankly, Raleas would label her a "bitch," but not to her face.

 

Jelcine had gotten sick of vampire hunting and saw joining them as a way out.

 

"I've got this, Anargrin," said Raleas, fighting the urge to check her rifle's load yet again.

 

"Good," said the elf. "Alright, in three . . . two . . . one."

 

The trio exploded into a sprint. The swishing of Wilom's footfalls eclipsed those of Jelcine's, but all three were nothing but blurs to Raleas's human eyes while she watched them through her scope. She was used to the inhuman speed of Anargrin and Jelcine, but it was easy to forget that little young Wilom held such ability too.

 

It was also easy to forget that the Hunter-apprentice was only four years younger than Raleas.

 

They'd crossed about four hundred meters in only a few seconds before Wilom's hands erupted in flames, and he slid to a stop and raised his palms. A giant ball of fire blasted out and flew straight for the leading ute.

 

The ute exploded and was flung up into the air, spinning and wheeling before crashing against the dirt road. It slid a few meters more before coming to a halt and blocking the way for the rest of the kidnapping convoy.

 

The convoy skidded to a stop, and Camarian soldiers poured from the trucks with a discipline that impressed even the ex-soldier Raleas. The heavy machine guns placed on top of the utes began to turn toward Anargrin and the others and opened fire, as did the other soldiers on the backs of the utes. The familiar barking, roaring crescendo of combined gunfire filled Raleas's ears. But by then, Jelcine, Anargrin, and Wilom had already scattered—Anargrin toward the front of the convoy, Jelcine toward the back, and Wilom dashing sideways.

 

Raleas exhaled and placed a shot through the skull of a soldier on the emplacement as he tried to shoot for Jelcine and then through another's as he went to take his comrade's place.

 

Wilom slid to a stop as a priest of Jaroai and his soldiers ran from the truck's back, following the one with the children inside.

 

Wilom threw another fireball, which hit the priest and the soldiers around him. It exploded and flung the soldiers screaming, writhing, and flipping like dolls. But the priest was untouched, protected by a shield of light.

 

The shield died away, and the priest raised his pole arm, which was layered in flames, but then Anargrin was on him. The priest, with impressive speed, managed to see Anargrin coming and swung out his staff. Anargrin evaded it, but how, Raleas couldn't know. Then he opened the priest's throat. Anargrin stopped, standing over the dying man as he dropped to his knees, and Raleas got a good look at him. Even for an elf, he was handsome, sharp featured, his skin as pale as the whitest Zatharian winter. His long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and he wore a brown leather jacket with blue jeans and had a bloody longsword in his right hand. The soldiers in a nearby ute switched their aim for him.

 

Then Anargrin stood in their midst. He'd just "blinked," a short-range instantaneous teleportation ability all Hunters had. Still, Anargrin was better than anyone else in the organization, having a shorter cool-down time of five minutes instead of the standard ten minutes and a more extended range. How he'd become so good at it, Raleas didn't know; she supposed it was because of his utter inability to use any magic whatsoever—as all other Hunters could, with magical ability being a prerequisite to becoming a Hunter.

 

In less than a split second, all the soldiers were slaughtered by his blade. Then he leapt off the back of the ute and was sprinting toward the end of the convoy.

 

Raleas tore her attention away from him and to Jelcine. She fought a priest of Jaroai and about a dozen soldiers. She smashed and whacked away shot after shot with her giant double-headed ax while the priest kept her at bay with blast after blast of fire from his hands. Jelcine reeled as a bullet managed to hit her arm, making her cry out.

 

Raleas blew out the side of the priest's skull. Then Jelcine was on the soldiers who once had her pinned down. Raleas began to pick off the stray soldiers who were trying to flank Jelcine or re-man the heavy machine guns. She knew she didn't need to look after Anargrin or Wilom.

 

Her sniper rifle clicked dry, and she was about to reload when her wristwatch beeped.

 

It was time to move in, so she stood and began running.

 

 

As she approached the truck, the sound of gunfire drifted away, replaced by children crying and Jelcine and Wilom moving the ruined ute, its metal bodywork shrieking across the muddy gravel road. The smell of blood mixed with smoke and gunpowder somehow penetrated through the pollen blocking her sinuses.

 

Anargrin stepped out from behind one of the trucks while whipping the blood off his sword. He was svelte and walked with the smooth confidence of the most seasoned of martial artists. He had to be, being about two hundred years old and among the longest-living Hunters. Like most elves, he stood at around 1.67 meters but was still quite a bit taller than Raleas.

 

"You alright?" he asked, placing a hand on her arm.

 

Raleas smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'm fine. I wasn't the one fighting on the front line. I just wish I could've done more."

 

"This mission isn't over yet. You are going to be invaluable soon," he said and glanced over his shoulder as Jelcine approached, clutching at her shoulder while she muttered curses. "And I'm sure you saved Jelcine's arse more than once."

 

That made Raleas smile, and he smiled back before he turned toward the truck's front. "All of you know the drill," he said while he and Jelcine passed each other. Then he opened the truck's driver's door and leapt in. "Let's move."

 

Jelcine walked up to Raleas. The tall, slender redhead fixed Raleas with an almost-hateful glare like she blamed Raleas for her injury.

 

"You talk to the children," said Jelcine.

 

"But—"

 

"Look, my arm hurts like fuck right now. I'm not in the mood for dealing with kids."

 

Raleas sighed. "Oh, alright."

 

And together, they leapt into the back of the truck.

Extract 2

It was dark when they left town. Raleas drove like usual and checked the rearview mirror for what must’ve been the tenth time. She could easily see the headlights of the four vehicles following in their wake. It seemed now the locals had thrown away all pretense of subtlety.

 

Raleas sighed and switched gears. The rocky, rough gravel road wound around the mountainside, affording a brilliant view of the desert below and even as far off as the vast, mountainous terrain of Hamar to the west. The going was slow; the road was horribly treacherous and poorly maintained. If the locals looked after the roadway, it would’ve been a brilliant tourist attraction just for the view alone, but Varmor cared little for their tourism industry despite having many beautiful vistas like this one. Perhaps if they did, they could one day compete with Isstarrsia in that industry. Isstarrsia was a beautiful country in the north. Amongst many things, Isstarrsia had the tallest mountain on the continent and the red sea, a vast body of water partitioned from the rest of the ocean by an extensive mountain range. It was said to be the deepest water in the world. She’d seen it firsthand as a child, and it was a breathtaking sight. Raleas had fallen in love with Isstarrsia and loved it when her job gave her the excuse to visit it.

 

Raleas shook away her train of thought and glanced at Anargrin next to her. He was hunched forward, his fingers intertwined together in front of his face, elbows on his thighs. She wondered what was going through his head, and it could be anything, knowing him, from planning on the best way to lose their tail or maybe just general daydreaming.

 

“When you find a good area to stop, pull over,” said Anargrin. “Let them catch up.”

 

“Then what?” asked Jelcine, bemused.

 

“I’m going to slip away, investigate the coven alone. The rest of you take care of our tail in whatever way you see fit,” said Anargrin. “Perhaps find a way to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, if you can.”

 

“These guys are selling their own people into slavery,” said Jelcine. “I say they more than deserve to die.”

 

Anargrin shrugged. “Perhaps. But nothing’s usually that simple. Not much is truly black-and-white.”

 

“Anargrin,” said Jelcine, “you hate slavers more than anyone.”

 

“I do,” said Anargrin. “I do, but we don’t know all the circumstances, the how and the why. They may have loved ones held hostage and are being forced into it. You don’t know everything about them.”

 

“Yet you killed those soldiers back in Camaria, without hesitation,” said Jelcine. “You even went so far as having Emilia stay behind to ‘clean up any witnesses.’ You didn’t know all their circumstances either.”

 

“That’s different,” stated Anargrin. “While I won’t try to justify their deaths, they were soldiers. They’d joined the army knowing they might die. That’s the way things go when you’re a soldier. It’s just the same as you and me.”

 

Jelcine “pffed!” and said, “Yeah, and how many were conscripted against their will? You and I both know that Camaria happily conscripts their own into their vast military.”

 

“That’s enough, you two,” said Emilia, so suddenly it made everyone jump in their seats. “Now isn’t the time for another philosophical debate. Yes, Anargrin, we’ll try to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, right, Jelcine?”

 

Jelcine sighed. “Yeah, sure. But if they attack us, I’m not hesitating.”

 

“It’s also pragmatic,” said Anargrin, “if they are doing this against their will. If we spare them, they might be willing to help us, tell us more about what’s going on, exactly. Or even aid us firsthand, once they learn we’re actually here to help.”

 

Raleas smiled, there always with an ulterior motive to his supposed altruism.

 

“Raleas, a good place to pull over is coming upon us, twenty meters on the left,” said Anargrin.

 

Raleas couldn’t make it out beyond the headlights. She didn’t have the Hunters’ enhanced dark vision.

 

Raleas had often wondered why he’d usually get her to drive because of this, and when she’d finally asked him, he’d answered, “Because I was raised in a time when the horse and carriage was the most common type of transport. While I know how to drive an automobile, I feel you are much better than I will ever be, having been born and raised around it.”

 

Raleas grinned to herself. She’d felt he was bullshitting at the time, but he’d been proven truthful when they’d taken the children back in Camaria. Raleas hadn’t driven then because she was the best shot amongst them.

 

They converged on the outcrop. It was a good six meters wide, and ten in length, and Raleas pulled over, bringing the Jeep to a halt carefully, so there were at least four meters’ free space between them and the descending cliff face.

 

Anargrin opened the door and climbed out. “This is me, guys. Good luck.”

 

“So what? You’re just abandoning us?” asked Jelcine, sounding surprisingly bitter, causing Raleas to look at her.

 

Anargrin gave her a bemused look. “When did you ever really actually need me, Jelcine? You’ll be fine. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think that.”

 

Then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness like he was never there.

 

With practiced ease, Anargrin climbed the cliff face. The wind whirled through his enhanced ears so vigorously that it made it almost impossible to hear much else. He made it to the top seconds before the followers arrived. Anargrin watched as two of the cars stopped farther up the road, blocking any escape north, and the other two halted a bit downward. Then the twenty total occupants climbed out—all of the locals wielding an assortment of bolt-action hunting rifles and shotguns.

 

Anargrin clenched his jaw. If rogue Hunters were in charge of this farce, they must’ve suspected by now they were Hunters themselves. They must’ve known sending these idiots was pretty much a death sentence, assuming, of course, none of these ambushers were disguised Hunters themselves. Anargrin doubted that though. He remembered then that the next train was due to leave in just over an hour, and perhaps the true kidnappers felt they were exposed and were abandoning the town, leaving the locals they’d recruited to die, now that they’d outlived their usefulness.

The thought sent sickening waves through Anargrin’s gut. He’d done many questionable things in his lifetime, but such ruthless, cowardly callousness didn’t sit well with him.

 

He moved on, slinking in silence through the rough terrain like a specter born of darkness.

 

Not well at all.

 

“Where’s the elf?” demanded the leader, a fat, slovenly man in his late fifties. He wore an old, dirty, and worn blue rule enforcer uniform that looked two sizes too small. But he held his shotgun with practiced confidence.

 

Jelcine, Raleas, Emilia, and Wilom stood beside the Jeep, relaxed but ready.

 

“Why are you following us?” asked Jelcine. “We are just here on business.”

 

“Quit the fucking act!” snapped the rule enforcer. “We’re not stupid. We know who the fuck you really are. You’re Hunters, nosing around in other people’s business, like always. We’ve got no vampires here. Now, where the fuck is the elf?”

 

Jelcine grinned. “Well if you’re so sure we’re Hunters, then why would you think we’re going to tell you ‘where the fuck’ the elf is?”

 

The man grimaced. “Because you’re cornered and have got twenty guns aimed and ready to kill you.”

 

The rule enforcer racked his shotgun in emphasis, echoed by many others.

 

Raleas smiled and shared a look with Jelcine. To anyone else, these fools would’ve been intimidating, but for them, it was beyond pathetic. As much as Raleas disliked this idiot, she still hoped Jelcine would be able to negotiate out of this. Raleas doubted it though. They seemed out for blood.

 

“Alright, I’ll tell you,” said Jelcine, sounding a little too smug for Raleas’s liking, like she was talking down to a petulant child, and it was becoming evident that Jelcine had no intention to negotiate.

 

“If you can all just put down your guns so we can talk this over like civilized people, okay?”

 

“Why would we do that?” asked the rule enforcer.

 

Jelcine furrowed her brow in bemusement. “Uh, because you think we may be Hunters. I would’ve thought that to be enough.”

 

“Smug bitch,” said the rule enforcer. “We’ve got you cornered, outgunned, and outnumbered two to one. So I’ll ask one more time, where is the fucking elf?”

 

“It’s actually five to one, dumbass. And did you fools actually stop to consider that we may have allowed you to corner us? That even with all your numbers and all your over-compensatory guns we wouldn’t be sure we could take you out?”

 

“Jelcine,” said Emilia.

 

“I see that you’re just a bunch of fucking stupid-as-shit, inbred, back-town hicks who are willing to sell their own into a life of slavery just for a little extra coin, so fuck you. Anargrin was wrong. There isn’t any gray about this at all, just black.”

 

“Jelcine,” snapped Emilia.

 

“Oh, fuck this,” roared the rule enforcer. “We’ll just find that fucking elf ourselves. Kill them. Kill them now.”

 

“I assure you, no matter how hard you look, you will never find him,” said Jelcine grinning her scary smile. “But you won’t live long enough to ever get the chance.”

 

In the blink of an eye, Raleas had her Stegran Mark IV drawn and readied its rough grip familiar, comforting in her sweat-slicked palms. While in a blaze of light, Jelcine summoned her great ax into being.

 

Then the locals opened fire.

 

Anargrin paused in his ascent as he heard the gunfire.

 

He couldn’t say he was surprised, just disappointed.

 

Anargrin sighed and moved on.

 

The hailing wall of fire smashed and bounced off Wilom’s hastily summoned shield, allowing Raleas, Wilom, and Emilia to leap behind the cover of the Jeep. Jelcine’s ax flourished and deflected showering shots as she charged. With a roar, she messily cut an attacker’s torso in two in a massive fountain of blood.

 

Raleas was up and shooting, her shots ejecting out the craniums of two locals before their returning gunfire caused her to crouch back behind the Jeep.

 

Emilia had already started her gruesome change, and Raleas tried to ignore the girl’s pained grunts and groans and the tearing, the horrid tearing, which Raleas knew wasn’t just her clothes.

 

“Wilom. How long until you can get another shield up?” Raleas asked.

 

“Precisely twenty seconds,” yelled the young Hunter. “It will be stronger than the last. I assure you. That one was hastily prepared and summoned. I would have started summoning it earlier but was afraid that even my slight gestures might have provoked them to attack.”

 

Raleas nodded. Wilom shouldn’t have worried that Jelcine had done an excellent job of that already. “Forget the damn shield, then. Use a fireball . . . or something.”

 

“As you wish,” he said as he raised his hands, and they began to light up.

 

Raleas was up again, shooting off three more shots, each hitting a target despite them being spread out and taking cover behind their vehicles. She was shooting to kill; there was little point in not, even with her considerable skill. Going for nonlethal shots was hard, more likely to make them die a drawn-out, painful death than not. She just hoped they’d take someone, anyone, alive.

 

Jelcine was in amongst it, fighting six of the fools at once as they swung the butts of their rifles at her ineffectually as she was blocking, weaving, and dodging through it all, looking like she was toying with them. They should’ve spread out and tried to catch her in a crossfire. Still, they were stubborn, misogynistic men who believed, due to their gender, they were innately superior and thus able to take down the crazy, bloodthirsty female Hunter with a giant ax.

 

Raleas shook her head and ducked back into cover.

 

As she knelt, Wilom was on his feet and flinging his fireball. Raleas watched as the vast thing traveled slowly through the air and hit one of the enemy cars in a loud explosion, forcing Raleas to flinch away.

 

There were blood-churning screams and the utter stench of burning—melting, frying flesh and fat.

 

Raleas was up again, shooting the last two rounds of her clip, killing two of Jelcine’s attackers. There was only one left now, who turned to run, but Jelcine brutally split his skull.

 

Finally, Emilia had finished her transformation. Howling at the heavens, she bounded over the Jeep to tear into the remaining locals like a whirlwind.

 

The fight, if you could call it that, being more akin to slaughter, only lasted four more seconds. The only local alive was the rule enforcer, who, with a bit of shrapnel lodged in his leg, was attempting to crawl away, whimpering pitifully in pain and fear.

 

“See?” said Jelcine. She was covered in blood as she approached him and smiled from ear to ear. “I told you this would happen, but did you believe me? Nooo.”

 

“What in the name of Jaroai are you?” he stammered.

 

“You already know that,” said Jelcine. “We’re Hunters.” Then she glanced at Raleas and Emilia. “Most of us. But we’re also something else.”

 

“W-what?”

 

“Your worst nightmare.”

Extract 3

 

Can one live up to their own expectations? Or are we all fated for hypocrisy?

The magically enhanced super-assassin, Anargrin and his team are the elite of the elite; black operations sent on the most dangerous of assignments to undermine the authoritarian theocratic regimes of the continent of Angara. Anargrin believes the past should be remembered, never obsessed over. Still, when he and his band of misfits are sent to investigate a Hunter Coven that stopped all communication soon, evidence indicates Anargrin’s enemy’s involvement. An enemy that is responsible directly and indirectly for much of Anargrin’s traumatic past, evidence that reveals a conspiracy hidden within the slave trade.

A conspiracy that threatens to engulf the entire continent in blood.

Due to be released on the 1st of November 2021, pre-order here!

amazon.com/Angaran-Chronicles-Underside-BAD-Agar-ebook/dp/B09FJM625N?ref_=nav_signin&

 

 

Anargrin’s elbow smashed hard into the mercenary’s face, sending him flailing. Another mercenary swung out the butt of his rifle. But Anargrin caught it midswing and twisted with the attack’s momentum, which allowed him to tear the rifle from the merc’s grasp easily. Anargrin’s backfist connected with a crunch into the man’s side. Then his uppercut threw him off his feet.

Anargrin slapped away another merc’s punch and weaved under the man’s hook. Lightning fast, Anargrin slipped onto the man’s side, and his low side kick snapped the man’s knee inward. The soldier screamed, collapsing, but Anargrin’s knee bashing in his face silenced him.

They were mercenaries, easily identifiable ones as well. They were from the organization named Blackreach, a company that worked out of Hamar, said to be one of the most elite and expensive mercenary forces in the world. They’d been around even when Anargrin was young, and there were dozens of the bastards in the first few carriages alone. Hiring so many must’ve cost a fortune. Their enemy was indeed well funded.

Each of them was an experienced soldier of some merit, but none were a match for them.

Anargrin couldn’t help but wonder who, exactly, they were—what they were, he had no doubt, but “who” was another question entirely.

Two more mercs popped out and raised their rifles, aiming at Anargrin, who only stood still, smiling at them.

Emilia suddenly lunged past him, barreling at the mercs like a bullet. They screamed and shot, managing to put one round into her each before she was upon them and tearing the poor bastards apart.

Anargrin clenched his teeth and looked away. He’d worked with Emilia for going on one hundred and twenty years now but still wasn’t used to her animalistic, horrific brutality. They said all werewolves eventually gave in to the hunger. Anargrin couldn’t help but wonder how long Emilia had, precisely.

He was just glad she was on his side, for now anyway.

Jelcine and Anargrin ran past Emilia as she tore apart her prey. Seven more mercs emerged from cowering behind their train seats.

But why weren’t they running? Shit. If he were them, he would. Emilia alone was terrifying enough. Perhaps it was a foolish, professional pride, or maybe they just thought they had nowhere to run? Either way, it didn’t matter. They were in their way.

They opened fire on Jelcine and Anargrin. Anargrin weaved and wound through their hail of gunfire, managing it despite the seats in his way. Jelcine strode down the aisle, her huge, seemingly unwieldy ax a blur as it battered their bullets aside.

Anargrin was first on them. He kicked one full in the face as he leapt over the seat the mercenary was taking cover behind.

Another merc on Anargrin’s left tried to bring his rifle around, but Anargrin’s grasp shot out and clutched the gun, stopping it short. With the same hand, Anargrin chopped the man hard across the solar plexus and followed that with another chop, angled up into the bottom of the merc’s nose

With an agonized cry, the merc began to collapse to his knees, but Anargrin brought his elbow into the back of his neck and sent his limp body smashing into the third merc with a powerful side kick.

By then, Jelcine was on the other four, decapitating one, and the last three didn’t last much longer.

Having just finished feasting, Emilia rushed past them, crashing and snarling through to the next carriage, breaking the metal walls with such ease they may as well have been made of papier mâché.

Jelcine and Anargrin, side by side, walked in her wake. There were just two carriages left before the last one, the victims and their leader—this Berrk must have been there. But Anargrin couldn’t help but wonder, why hadn’t they just pulled the pin yet?

Anargrin’s train of thought was interrupted as more gunfire echoed, and they both froze in their tracks as they heard what followed: the sickening sound of high-pitched, yelping pain.

Jelcine and Anargrin shared a glance. Then they were running, Anargrin exclaiming, “Shit, shit, shit.”

They both leapt to the next carriage and found, to their horror, Emilia curled on the floor with large, ragged, bloody bullet holes in her torso. Anargrin could see her chest was still rising and falling as she breathed, but she was well out of the fight, barely conscious.

Four figures stood at the other end of the carriage. Anargrin couldn’t sense an aura from any of them. All were “human.” One, a blond man, had a smoking high-caliber revolver raised. Three were male, one female, all as pale as snow, all wearing black leather coats. The irises of their eyes were blood red.

Anargrin didn’t need to be an expert on spotting one to know they were vampires. He could only hope that none were originals. Now he knew the real reason the mercenaries hadn’t turned tail and run: they were more scared of these vampires than the rampaging werewolf.

The vampire with the pistol laughed. “Fucking glad I kept those silver bullets on me. Always good to be prepared.”

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” said the female vampire. She was almost as tall as Jelcine, attractive too, her long red hair curling over her slender shoulders. “The Hunters that Berrk told us about.”

She smiled at Anargrin. It would’ve been beautiful if her fangs weren’t extended so long.

“Hmm, I like him. Even for an elf, he’s handsome. Julen, can we keep him alive so I can play with him later?”

“I ain’t guaranteeing you nothin’, Alicin,” said the one who must’ve been Julen. He was the tallest of them, his thick brown hair long and unkempt. “I don’t give a shit. But you made a right mess of the fucking expensive mercs we hired.”

“What?” Jelcine asked. “You expect an apology?”

“Shit no,” exclaimed Julen. “It just proves what I said. They’re useless pieces of shit who didn’t deserve half the price.”

Anargrin grinned as, in a flash of light, he summoned his sword and drew it into a ready stance.

“Or they were worth the fee, but we’re worth ten times more,” Anargrin said.

“I fucking doubt that,” bellowed Julen as he drew a longsword from inside his coat, as did the others. Alicin wielded a saber, and the gray-haired, older vampire drew a huge greatsword, only slightly shorter than he was tall. They all held their weapons with the confidence only the skilled were capable of. The blond vampire didn’t draw a melee weapon, just kept his revolver raised.

They were vampires, so their natural strength far exceeded Anargrin’s. Even the average vampire was as strong as Jelcine. The only thing he had over them was his extreme speed. All vampires were faster than the average human, but Anargrin far exceeded even that. The only way to kill a vampire was by decapitation.

While far tougher and quicker to heal than an average person, a Hunter could still be killed by conventional means. Vampires could lose a limb but go on with ease, whereas a Hunter would faint and then die from the blood loss if not stemmed quickly. They also never tired, and Anargrin could already feel fatigue starting to slow him.

It was going to be a hard fight.

“Let’s earn our keep and kill these fuckers,” snarled Julen.

The blond vampire opened fire. The kickback of such a high-caliber weapon would’ve broken an average person’s arm if they wielded it with one hand like him, but there was barely any movement. The shots flew for Jelcine, who smashed them aside with her ax, but the kinetic force was almost too much for even her to handle.

Alicin and Julen were already moving, sprinting over the seat tops so fast it may well have been solid ground. Simultaneously, the older gray-haired vampire, with his bare hands, tore one of the seats from its bolts and, with a roar, flung it across the expanse straight at Anargrin with breathtaking velocity.

Anargrin ducked just under it a mere millisecond before the Alicin woman was upon him. Laughing, she slashed her saber downward, straight for his skull.

Anargrin sidestepped it and then weaved under her follow-on, a horizontal slash aimed for his face. She was fast, really fast—that, coupled with her vampiric strength. Anargrin was sure he’d likely be disarmed if he blocked her attacks, so he could only dodge or parry, but his parry would have to be timed with perfection. For someone who wanted him alive, she seemed to be trying her best to kill him.

She was fast, but not as fast as him.

With a grin, he slipped away from her third attack, another horizontal slash, and slid in, slashing at her neck. His sudden burst of speed almost took her off guard, her large green eyes wide with surprise while she barely backstepped it.

Anargrin followed with a downward diagonal cut that she just managed to batter away, but that opened her up for his front kick, which hit her in the chest and sent her stumbling back. He heard a crunch as one of her ribs gave way, but she showed no sign of pain. Being a vampire, she was incapable of feeling anything, pain included.

With a snarl, she lunged, slashing upward at his groin. Anargrin backpedaled it by a hair.

Alicin had his attention so fixated he almost didn’t notice the older male vampire bearing down on him. Anyone else would’ve failed, but Anargrin wasn’t “anyone else.”

The vampire took a huge running leap, which was almost laughably obsolete with his horrible strength, and with a deafening roar, struck down with his massive sword. Desperately, Anargrin leapt sideways, and he hit the wall so hard it knocked the breath out of him. But he was able to watch in horror as the vampire’s strike smashed into the floor, hitting with such force it didn’t just cut through the metal but caved it downward at least six inches in a full meter-wide radius.

Gasping for breath, Anargrin just managed to lean out of the path of Alicin’s vertical slash, an attack that cut quickly into the wall in his wake, before sticking short. Before Anargrin could use the opening, the gray-haired vampire was attacking, cutting out his huge greatsword in a wild, slow, but powerful horizontal arc.

Anargrin swayed beneath the swinging blade. Then it crashed into the carriage’s wall, shrieking through the metal like it was toilet paper. Even Alicin was forced to fling herself out of the way, snarling a curse.

Anargrin moved, sprinting across the seat tops to gain room, any room from his opponents, allowing him to manage a glimpse of Jelcine’s situation. She was fighting both Julen and the blond vampire, who now wielded a short sword. She barely kept them at bay as they harassed her with hit-and-run tactics.

He saw what they were doing, wearing her down—as much as Jelcine liked to think it, not even she could keep swinging that huge ax forever—or just pissing her off so she’d make a mistake. He could hear her constant cursing and knew they were succeeding in that endeavor.

Anargrin heard another roar and turned to see the gray-haired vampire tearing out another seat. Alicin stood beside him, smiling smugly. The seats were at least two meters in length and must’ve weighed well over one hundred kilograms. The bastard ripped them from the floor with unbelievable ease.

The vampire then lifted it over his head and let it fly.

Anargrin dropped to the floor, watching the seat fly like a missile over him, and couldn’t help wincing as he heard the massive crashing of it smashing into others farther down the carriage.
In the blink of an eye, Anargrin was on his feet, just in time to see Alicin and the other vampire charge at him over the seat tops.

Anargrin clenched his teeth and sprinted to the side, knowing he couldn’t fight them head-on, making it just out of the way of Alicin’s slashing saber. The gray-haired vampire descended on him, cutting out his greatsword with a deafening roar.

Anargrin ducked it and dashed forward, slashing for the male vampire’s knee joint.

The vampire had no time to react, but Alicin parried Anargrin’s sword off course. He weaved under her follow-on and was forced to lunge left, out of the way of the male’s substantial downward blow.

Anargrin cursed beneath his breath. They were well versed in fighting together.

“You’re good,” said Alicin as she licked her full, red lips. “I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah,” gasped Anargrin, “tell me something I don’t know.”

“He’s an arrogant little elf, isn’t he?” said the male, his voice deep and throaty. “I’m looking forward to cutting him down to size.”

The male barked out a laugh.

Alicin rolled her eyes and sighed, echoing Anargrin’s feelings on the terrible pun.

Anargrin tried to catch his breath and took the time to glance at Jelcine, seeing she was still fighting.

“That was terrible, Gerit,” said Alicin.

“I thought it was good,” said Gerit.

“It wasn’t,” said Alicin. “Anyway, I want him alive. I like him.”

“You like—”
Anargrin didn’t let him finish his sentence. He charged. He needed to get this done quickly.

Gerit threw himself back a millisecond with surprising speed before Anargrin’s slash connected with his leg.

Laughing, Alicin launched forward as she hacked overhead at Anargrin. He sidestepped and chopped back, causing her to parry it away desperately.

In the next second, Gerit was on him. His powerful front kick would’ve broken every bone in Anargrin’s body if he hadn’t slipped away.

The vampire followed with a deceptively fast upward slash that Anargrin jumped back from, causing him to land on top of one of the seats. He barely made it as the large sword burst straight through the back of the chair, the tip missing Anargrin’s nose by a hair.

Alicin was suddenly on his side, striking her sword at his skull.

Anargrin lunged back, landing on a seat back. Usually, he would’ve landed without any hint of losing balance, but now he barely kept himself from falling.

He leapt back again, trying to get a bit more distance from his attackers. He landed on another seat top a few meters back as the two grinning vampires descended on him.

Anargrin clenched his jaw. At this rate, he couldn’t win. If he were fighting one-on-one against either of them, he would’ve won already, but together, they worked in harmonious accord. 

Someone or something had trained them well.

He could win in one way. It was desperate but better than nothing.

Anargrin blinked again. He wasn’t even sure if it’d been long enough since the last one. Thank goodness it was.

All his calculations were instinctual, almost instantaneous as he reappeared in midair, right behind Gerit as he was in midstride. Anargrin knew he didn’t have the strength for a clean decapitation, so he did the next-best thing and stabbed his sword straight into the back of Gerit’s knee. While the vampire felt no pain, the effect was still devastating as the momentum of Anargrin’s fall drove the vampire down, face-first against a seat top, snapping back the vampire’s head so hard it broke his neck. Blood sprayed out of his broken nose, and his teeth flew in every direction.

The horrific cracking and crunching was almost deafening. Any other being would’ve died instantly, but Anargrin could hear the vampire groaning. It didn’t matter if he was alive or not. Gerit was now completely paralyzed.

Anargrin allowed himself a slight smile.

“No,” he heard Alicin gasp, and she came to a stop and spun to face him, her pretty face contorted with rage. “You bastard.”

“No,” said Anargrin, “I’m not. I wasn’t born out of wedlock.”

She let out a high-pitched wail and came at him, saber swinging wildly.

Then she did something Anargrin didn’t expect: she feinted into a thrust for his heart. A saber was a curved, single-edged sword built mostly for slashing, the one she wielded especially.

It also seemed an exceptionally calculated attack for someone so angry.

Eyes wide, teeth clenched, Anargrin desperately stepped to the side. The thrust missed his heart, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid it entirely as the edge skimmed across the side of his ribs.
Anargrin let out a cry as the agony bloomed through his torso and blood sprayed. With his free hand, he clutched at it.

Despite the pain, instinct drove him onward and slashing out at Alicin in a wild attempt to prevent her from following on, like a cat. She bounded out of the way.

“I never understood why the Valandri vampires still insist on creating you Hunters,” said Alicin. “You’re weaker than us, can take less shit than us—inferior in almost every way.” Then she licked the blood off her blade. “But I will say this. Your blood is just utterly delicious.”

He was too busy struggling for breath, but he could think of various arguments to her statement. We can walk in the sunlight without bursting into flames was just one of many answers Anargrin could think up.

“Just give up,” said Alicin. “Join with us. I know you Hunters cannot be sired, but if you join us, you will have the time of your life—that I guarantee.”

“What . . . about . . . what I did to your friend?” Anargrin managed.

Alicin smiled, glanced over her shoulder at the immobilized Gerit, and shrugged. “Didn’t care much for him, anyway,” she said. “You taking him out proves you’re good enough.”

Anargrin laughed. “Typical rogue vampire. Fuck off.”

“Aw!” said Alicin. “I was looking forward to playing with you.”

Anargrin pursed his lips, shrugged, and pointed at Alicin’s leg. “I was too.”

Alicin raised her eyebrows, bemused. Then Jelcine blinked into existence behind her, and the Hunter’s huge ax cut clean through the vampire’s left leg. Alicin collapsed onto her side, and the vampire’s mouth gaped in shock.

Jelcine, gasping for breath and bleeding from numerous small wounds, smiled at Anargrin and turned to face the two remaining vampires as they ran across the seat backs toward her.

“Nice work,” said Anargrin. “We’ve got one alive and able to talk. Now the other two are expendable.”

“You bastard,” screamed Alicin as she writhed on the floor. “You cheating fucks.”

“You only wanted me to spare her ’cause she’s fucking hot,” said Jelcine as she readied her ax.

Anargrin just shrugged. He wasn’t going to deny it.

Anargrin was sure it’d take a while for him to find a woman quite like her ever again. He sighed, wondering once more what it was that got Raleas so damned pissed.

Then, with savage snarls, the vampires were on them.

Anargrin ducked the tall vampire’s slash as Jelcine parried the blond’s short sword.

Anargrin slipped behind the tall vampire, and as his forward momentum carried him farther on, he slashed into the back of his neck. It wasn’t a clean decapitation, but it was just enough to sever the spine, sending the vampire writhing and crashing into the seats with such force Anargrin could hear his bones crunching into a paste.

The blond vampire saw this as he dodged Jelcine’s counter and, with fear plain on his face, turned to gap it, but Jelcine’s hand shot out and snatched him by the ankle. Then she proceeded to smash him into the floor, the seats, and the walls. Over and over again, each impact caused Anargrin to flinch and wince in sympathy.

“I think that’s enough,” Anargrin said.

She didn’t listen, just continued.

“Jelcine, I think he’s out of the way,” he said.

“He. Hurt. Emilia,” she roared.

“Yes, but we were attacking their train. We’re their enemies. Now, come on. Now you’re just wasting time.”

Jelcine hesitantly dropped the broken vampire with a growl. “Alright, fine. Behind you, by the way.”

“I know,” said Anargrin as he stepped out of the way of Alicin’s slash just as it descended at his back. He pivoted around and cut off her remaining leg and then kicked her to the floor as she was in midcollapse, causing the vampire to scream more obscenities.

“You seriously think I wouldn’t hear someone with one leg trying to sneak up on me?”

Jelcine shrugged. “Well with the train noise, I was just trying to help. Well not all of us are perfect. Okay?”

Anargrin sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You know I’m far from perfect, Jelcine. Can you check on Emilia, please? The poor girl may be back in human form.”

“You forget she’s far from being a girl now,” said Jelcine.

“Yeah, I know. Sometimes I forget,” he said. Werewolves were said to be the product of an elven mage’s curse placed upon the humans who’d attacked and overrun their city during the holy war so long ago. The mage used a type of magic they didn’t know of yet. The bite of a werewolf could only turn other humans, but human Hunters were immune too. A werewolf’s life span far exceeded that of a normal human, the equivalent of an elf’s around five hundred. Emilia was bitten when she was seventeen, so even now, she still looked that age, and acted it in some cases.

“I’m sorry, but I think it’s a priority to check whether she’s bleeding to death rather than if I remember that.”

Jelcine started and was immediately moving.

Anargrin sighed and quickly checked his wound. The blood had already clotted thanks to his enhanced metabolism—still hurt like shit though.

Much to both Anargrin’s and Jelcine’s relief, Emilia was still alive and was going to live. In werewolf form, she had ejected the bullets from her body, as they lay next to her unconscious form, crushed and covered in blood.

Jelcine lifted Emilia and placed her over her shoulder. Then they moved on. The destruction they’d caused with their fight was incredible. Many of the train seats were now scattered, and shattered in some cases.

They were both exhausted. They’d just fought through eight large carriages, all with at least a dozen well-trained, well-armed mercenaries in each. Having to deal with them on top of the vampires had pushed them almost beyond even their enhanced physical fitness.

As they walked, Anargrin tried to ignore his tiredness and reached out with his senses. He could sense twenty-one presences in the next carriage, all of them of nonmagical potential.

There were meant to be ten locals taken from the town, so ten of that twenty were perhaps them. The other ten were most likely more mercs, and the twenty-first might be this Berrk character.

Or it might not be, as Hunters can hide their magical potential. He could easily be there, but Anargrin wouldn’t be able to detect him at all.

“You sense them?” Anargrin asked Jelcine while they walked.

“Yeah, twenty presences total,” she said. “I may not be all Mr. Super-Uber Senses like you, Mr. Perfect, but I’m still pretty damn good.”

Anargrin clenched his jaw. “I’m not perfect, Jelcine. Stop calling me that, please. Anyway, we’re here to save those people, not kill them. So please be careful.”

Jelcine sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

Anargrin shrugged. “I am more than old enough to be your dad, so fair enough. I guess.”

What Jelcine said next took him off guard. “You know you should get over that age gap, Anargrin, no matter how huge it is, and ask Raleas out. Who knows how long we’ve got left, Anargrin? Use that time to be happy.”

Anargrin knew who she meant, and he sighed. “Let’s talk about this later, Jelcine. Now isn’t the time.”

Jelcine shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

They came to the door, and Anargrin slid it open. Then he jumped onto the next deck, pushing their backs against the wall—Jelcine left, Anargrin right.

“How long until you can blink again?” Jelcine asked.

“Just over four minutes,” he said as he checked his watch.

“Anargrin, I have a bad feeling about this,” said Jelcine.

“Yeah, me too,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

Then Anargrin slid the door open, and what they saw caused them to start and gape in utter horror.

Twenty total mercs crouched behind the seats, rifles raised to cover the doorway. Just in front, standing out in the open, was a man who fit the description Raleas had given of this “Berrk” character. He held a smoking pistol and smiled at them psychotically as, in front of him, lay the corpses of ten people, ten people dressed in simple civilian clothing. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and it looked like they had been shot while on their knees, execution style.

“Well, well, well,” said Berrk. “I am so glad you made it this far. I am so glad you fought and struggled so hard but found, at the end, it was all for nothing. I could’ve pulled the pin, left you drifting off the mountainside. But to miss the shock and horror on your faces, to miss that would’ve just been heartbreaking. You can go ahead and die now.”

Berrk threw back his head and burst out laughing. “Thank you. Thank you oh so much.”

Still laughing, Berrk bowed a low, theatrical movement.

Then the Blackreach mercs opened fire.

 

Can one live up to their own expectations? Or are we all fated for hypocrisy?

The magically enhanced super-assassin, Anargrin and his team are the elite of the elite; black operations sent on the most dangerous of assignments to undermine the authoritarian theocratic regimes of the continent of Angara. Anargrin believes the past should be remembered, never obsessed over. Still, when he and his band of misfits are sent to investigate a Hunter Coven that stopped all communication soon, evidence indicates Anargrin’s enemy’s involvement. An enemy that is responsible directly and indirectly for much of Anargrin’s traumatic past, evidence that reveals a conspiracy hidden within the slave trade.

A conspiracy that threatens to engulf the entire continent in blood.

Due to be released on the 1st of November 2021, pre-order here!

amazon.com/Angaran-Chronicles-Underside-BAD-Agar-ebook/dp/B09FJM625N?ref_=nav_signin&

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 06.09.2021

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An extract from my upcoming novel, which is to be uploaded on Amazon on November the 1st, 2021!