The Brimstone Network (Brimstone Network Trilogy) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Thomas E. Sniegoski
like this. There was cruelty in it.
A rage.
It drove him to attack, his staff lashing out at the four monks. And even though they tried to fight back, it was useless, for he could not be touched if he didn’t want to be.
But he could touch them.
He played with them a bit—a part of his nature that he didn’t care for. There were many things the human Bram did not care for in this other part of himself.
One by one he brought them to their knees, which should have been enough. But when he was like this, he always wanted more.
Again he could feel the smile tugging at his mouth with the thought of drawing more blood.
And with that disturbing idea, Bram recoiled. What he had done was more than enough, and he pulled back.It was a struggle, his more violent nature eager for more, but by using relaxation techniques the monks had taught him, he was finally able to restrain his far darker nature.
Bram was holding the staff tightly in his hands, tensed for attack. Slowly, breathing in and out, he felt the intensity leave him, the anger and rage suppressed.
For now.
He let the staff drop from his hands and it clattered to the ground as his trainers carefully picked themselves up from the floor. He bowed to them, and they returned the gesture.
Then he sensed that they were no longer alone, turning to find the ancient Abbot, Master Po standing behind him, his leathery face emotionless.
“Master,” Bram said, and bowed.
Master Po returned the bow, his hands emerging from within the long sleeves of his vibrant red robe. “I am curious,” he said, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Who is it that bows before me. Is it the boy … or the angry spirit?
Bram tensed.
“The human, or the Specter?”
A drenaline pumping, Elijah sprang into action. He crossed the room in three mighty strides, reaching for the panic button on the wall beneath a clear plastic shell. He drew back his hand, preparing to shatter the fragile plastic covering and sound the alert, when the ground beneath his feet suddenly shifted. The floor cracked, the very structure of the communications center moaning in protest as it shook.
“Is it an earthquake?” one of the agents asked.
If only , the commander of the Brimstone Network thought, a knot of fear forming in the pit of his stomach. He lunged across the shifting floor, shattered the plastic cover, and sounded the alarm just as multiple ghostly apparitions began to flow through the walls, skeletal forms clothed in tattered, ancient burial robes.
It was as he feared, the Network’s supernatural defenses had been breached.
The loathsome apparitions were called larvae. Their ear-piercing wails blended with the horrified screams of their victims, and the pealing of the alarms.
Elijah watched in horror as one of the angry wraiths dropped from the air to feed on one of his agents. Sucking every ounce of life from the poor soul, the larvae droppedthe withered corpse to the floor, where it exploded in a cloud of dust.
Then turned its attention to him.
The larvae flew at him—clawed, skeletal fingers reaching out to take hold, but Elijah would not be a willing victim. From the vast pool of knowledge stored within his brain, he plucked a spell specifically for the dissemination of evil spirits. Extending his hand, he uttered the spell, crimson bands of crackling energy flowing from the ends of his fingers to engulf the angry spirit, crushing it out of existence.
The other agents had started to delve into their own spell-knowledge, using the ancient arcana learned in the earliest days of their training to protect themselves and destroy the attacking spirits.
And just when it seemed that the majority of them had managed to survive the brunt of the initial attack, Elijah Stone came to the frightening realization that the larvae were only the beginning.
A distraction.
Another severe tremor rocked the chamber as huge chunks of floor were shoved aside, and the Hollow Men emerged. Hundreds of the
A rage.
It drove him to attack, his staff lashing out at the four monks. And even though they tried to fight back, it was useless, for he could not be touched if he didn’t want to be.
But he could touch them.
He played with them a bit—a part of his nature that he didn’t care for. There were many things the human Bram did not care for in this other part of himself.
One by one he brought them to their knees, which should have been enough. But when he was like this, he always wanted more.
Again he could feel the smile tugging at his mouth with the thought of drawing more blood.
And with that disturbing idea, Bram recoiled. What he had done was more than enough, and he pulled back.It was a struggle, his more violent nature eager for more, but by using relaxation techniques the monks had taught him, he was finally able to restrain his far darker nature.
Bram was holding the staff tightly in his hands, tensed for attack. Slowly, breathing in and out, he felt the intensity leave him, the anger and rage suppressed.
For now.
He let the staff drop from his hands and it clattered to the ground as his trainers carefully picked themselves up from the floor. He bowed to them, and they returned the gesture.
Then he sensed that they were no longer alone, turning to find the ancient Abbot, Master Po standing behind him, his leathery face emotionless.
“Master,” Bram said, and bowed.
Master Po returned the bow, his hands emerging from within the long sleeves of his vibrant red robe. “I am curious,” he said, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Who is it that bows before me. Is it the boy … or the angry spirit?
Bram tensed.
“The human, or the Specter?”
A drenaline pumping, Elijah sprang into action. He crossed the room in three mighty strides, reaching for the panic button on the wall beneath a clear plastic shell. He drew back his hand, preparing to shatter the fragile plastic covering and sound the alert, when the ground beneath his feet suddenly shifted. The floor cracked, the very structure of the communications center moaning in protest as it shook.
“Is it an earthquake?” one of the agents asked.
If only , the commander of the Brimstone Network thought, a knot of fear forming in the pit of his stomach. He lunged across the shifting floor, shattered the plastic cover, and sounded the alarm just as multiple ghostly apparitions began to flow through the walls, skeletal forms clothed in tattered, ancient burial robes.
It was as he feared, the Network’s supernatural defenses had been breached.
The loathsome apparitions were called larvae. Their ear-piercing wails blended with the horrified screams of their victims, and the pealing of the alarms.
Elijah watched in horror as one of the angry wraiths dropped from the air to feed on one of his agents. Sucking every ounce of life from the poor soul, the larvae droppedthe withered corpse to the floor, where it exploded in a cloud of dust.
Then turned its attention to him.
The larvae flew at him—clawed, skeletal fingers reaching out to take hold, but Elijah would not be a willing victim. From the vast pool of knowledge stored within his brain, he plucked a spell specifically for the dissemination of evil spirits. Extending his hand, he uttered the spell, crimson bands of crackling energy flowing from the ends of his fingers to engulf the angry spirit, crushing it out of existence.
The other agents had started to delve into their own spell-knowledge, using the ancient arcana learned in the earliest days of their training to protect themselves and destroy the attacking spirits.
And just when it seemed that the majority of them had managed to survive the brunt of the initial attack, Elijah Stone came to the frightening realization that the larvae were only the beginning.
A distraction.
Another severe tremor rocked the chamber as huge chunks of floor were shoved aside, and the Hollow Men emerged. Hundreds of the
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