Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 131708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“There’s only a dozen of them, and none are females. This can’t possibly be the entire colony.” Which was a shame, because eradicating them all in one go would have been easiest.
He drew in a breath through his nose, taking in the scents of grass, dew, and pine needles. There were no sounds of nature—no owls hooting, no coyotes howling, no mosquitos buzzing. As if every living thing had fled on sensing the strix. All that could be heard was the rustle of leaves and the crunch of gravel beneath the strix’s feet.
Viper shed his jacket, and the others followed suit. The fight would get ugly, and none wanted their jackets being ruined.
“We move now,” said Viper. “Circle them. None can leave here alive.”
“Do we have to kill them fast, or can we play?” asked Darko.
Viper felt his lips tip up, his entity all for the latter. “We can play.”
Darko grinned, as did several others.
They teleported straight to the camp, forming a circle around it … placing the strix in the center.
Startled, the demons tensed, their blood-red eyes skimming over the Black Saints. Hissing, they shifted nervously, though a hunger for violence seeped into their gazes.
Inside Viper, his entity smiled in sadistic delight. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” He let out an archangelic blast of warped holy fire. The ultraviolet wave shimmered through the air, lethal as the sharpest of blades. It rammed into three strix, severing their bodies in half—halves that then crumbled to ashes.
The other strix hissed again, baring canine fangs. Then, like a switch had been flicked, chaos ensued.
A strix leaped in the air as if it had bounced off a damn trampoline. It came right at Viper, striking out with a black whip of fire that smelled of sulphur and brimstone.
He lurched to the side, but the whip lashed his arm and shoulder. The scorching-hot lash hurt like a motherfucker. It corroded his skin, ate through his tee, and infuriated his entity.
Adrenaline pumping through his system fast, Viper lobbed an ultraviolet orb at the demon’s chest, sending it careening into the picnic bench behind it. The wooden table gave beneath the strix’s weight, collapsing into a pile. An agonized cry burst out of the strix as he stared down at his wound.
Just as the fall from heaven had twisted Viper’s inner entity, it had also twisted his ability to conjure holy fire. The latter left clean burns that hurt like nothing else. But the flaming orbs Viper and his brothers now wielded? They blackened flesh, burned like hell, and carried the astringent scent of acid.
The strix in Viper’s sight didn’t look up in time to see the second ball he aimed its way—it caught the demon right in the head, killing it instantly.
He jerked back as a hellfire orb whizzed past him and crashed into Sting’s chest.
Sting regarded his attacker like he was no more than a child throwing pebbles. “That all you got? How disappointing.”
He probably was disappointed, because he actually liked pain.
Confident that Sting could take out the strix easily, Viper zeroed in on another demon—one who was attacking Darko from behind and clawing at his back. He pelted the strix with a shower of unholy orbs that reduced it to ashes. He couldn’t lie, the feeling of release that came when he allowed violence to take him was thrillingly addictive.
Viper and his brothers fought how they always fought: Viciously and without pity. Which wasn’t to say that they were all kill, kill, kill. As pre-agreed, they had some fun with the strix. They bit them, burned them, broke their bones, drank their blood, blistered their skin. And they enjoyed every fucking minute.
The strix retaliated hard with claws, fangs, hellfire orbs, and whips of black fire. Again and again the demons evaded strikes by shifting into mist or exploding into molecules. They sometimes attacked as oversized bats or owls, and they were gruesome in every form. But they were also outmatched—the power of the Black Saints too raw, their savageness too primal.
“Jesus, he’s heavier than he looks,” grumbled Merchant.
Viper tracked his brother’s voice, his brows lifting at the sight of Merchant and Rivet holding a demon by its wrists and ankles while swinging it from side to side. They sang something about shaking a bed and turning the blanket over before promptly dropping the strix face first onto the fire pit they’d lit with unholy fire.
Leaving them to it, Viper turned. And found a demon almost on him. He growled as it swiped out and dragged its razor-sharp nails across his face, scoring deep.
Fucker. He fisted its sweater, hauled it close, and sank his teeth into its throat. Blood hit his tongue, carrying a charred tang. He wasn’t crazy about the taste, but he drank the liquid down, letting it help him heal. His blood clotted, his wounds closed over, his energy—