Read Online ElyriasEcstasy by Amber Jayne and Eric Del Carlo - Free Book Online Page A

troopers he could see ahead. One of them, at least, would have time to call
in an alert—all this required was the touch of a button on the radio on their
belt. Not long after that, real alarms would start sounding, ones that would be
taken very seriously. But Urna planned to be far out of the compound before
that happened.
    He selected his target, the more attentive of the pair, and
raced for him across the final distance. The trooper raised his gun.
    “Hold it right—” But the Weapon’s whisper-quiet feet were
carrying him at a blurring speed by now. A quick elbow to the jaw cut off the
trooper’s last word, a few red drops of blood flying from his mouth instead. As
he stumbled back a step, Urna’s foot met decisively with the center of his
chest, sending him sprawling against the metal linked fence.
    Urna didn’t have much experience fighting against ordinary
people. He’d trained exclusively with other Weapons, spent his time in the dark
of the Unsafe battling inhuman fiends. He thought he heard a rib crack, felt a
twinge of sympathy for the poor dupe. But this wasn’t the time for hesitation.
    The one trooper’s chest had stopped his forward momentum.
Now he spun on the second figure, a female, who was still raising her firearm.
So far the assault had lasted roughly two seconds.
    “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Urna said. An indulgence on his
part. A…mercy? Was it some lingering warm feeling from the episode with Arvra
earlier? Such thoughts flitted through his mind and vanished. He watched as the
woman, frozen in this tiny instant, seemed to consider her options.
Hyper-processing, the way adrenaline allowed one to do. Urna had an inordinate
supply of the stuff, a fact he had managed to learn from the doctors
over the years, something that was unique to his biology. It was interesting to
see the effect of so much adrenaline on a normal human as the soldier’s gun
twitched indecisively in her grip. Her other hand was motionless at her side,
as if she’d forgotten all about her radio. She had to recognize him, had to
know how dangerous he was. She couldn’t let Urna go, she must be thinking. But
if she tried to stop him…
    The barely conscious man on the ground wheezed as if
offering an opinion. Already Urna could hear footfalls in the short distance,
heading this way. As instructive as it might have been fighting several
troopers at once, this wasn’t the time. “Let me make this easier,” he said to
the woman.
    A swift punch to the nose dropped the second guard, a
follow-up kick sending her gun skittering irretrievably across the concrete
yard. Urna tossed the weapon he had claimed earlier over the fence before
launching himself at it.
    His fingers curled around the cold metal rings. His feet
barely touched the fence as he used the strength of his arms to pull himself
quickly up. When he reached the top, he hoisted himself up into a standing
position. Easily and perfectly balanced on the thin rail, he allowed his head a
half-turn back in the direction of the compound. Another indulgence.
    His whole life had been spent here. What he could remember
of it. A life closely monitored at all times, except for those spent under-Ship
with his dear Shadowflash.
    Weapons did everything exciting in the dark. Run, fight,
kill, fuck—and they did it alone, save for the company of one other man.
(Except, sometimes, in the fucking case, he supposed, when it might be with a
woman.) So why didn’t those Weapons simply vanish, desert, quit their duties?
It was something he had often wondered about, one of those disturbing thoughts
that had perhaps translated itself into a tangled scrawl on the walls of his
room. The Guard never left the Safe. Only authorized daredevil salvage teams or
crazy civilians like Arvra’s brother ever ventured into the Unsafe.
    The only other beings to truly walk in the perpetual
twilight beneath the Black Ship as though they owned it were the Passengers. So
why did the Weapons return to