Rage of the Heavens by Steve Gilmore

Author:Steve Gilmore [Gilmore, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, War, Military, Adventure, Fantasy Adventure, Metaphysical Fantasy, Angels, Demons, Apocalyptic, Apocalypse
ISBN: 9781685331368
Google: MSCczwEACAAJ
Amazon: B09B7PS8FV
Goodreads: 59408487
Publisher: Liquid Mind Media
Published: 2021-10-14T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

It felt like a hangover.

Like the worst hangover I’d ever had.

But a million trillion gazillion times worse.

Everything hurt.

My head. My body. My eyes. My hair.

Yes, even my goddamn hair.

It was that bad.

And the fact that some asshole was singing the same verse of Fleetwood Mac’s “Gold Dust Woman” at the top of his lungs and absolutely butchering the lyrics was making it even worse.

So — much — worse.

“Blah blah, Golden dusty woman,” belted out the squeaky yet masculine voice in a goofy accent. “Something about a spoon and blah blah blah—”

“No more!” I yelled, struggling to sit up and open my eyes in a state of semi consciousness. “I can’t fucking take anymore. If you’re gonna sing it obnoxiously loud and in the wrong key, at least get the goddamn words right!”

Apparently not appreciating my criticism, the mysterious songster promptly thumped me on the head with what felt like a large stick and yelled something to the effect of “Oi! The blighter boy’s awake, Yaw! We shoulda whacked him harder at the bog. Pull over! I’ll get the hammer.”

And there’s just something about hearing the words ‘whack’ and ‘hammer’ in the same sentence that made me forget about how shitty I felt real quick like.

My eyes flew open as I sat up straight, coming to the very quick realization that my hands and feet were bound and I had a bag over my head. What the hell?

Figuring that was completely unacceptable, I willed the cloak into being. Manifesting in a spectral flash, it billowed about my shoulders as all the pain instantly faded from my poisoned body and a turbo shot of adrenaline surged through me like a bolt of lightning. Breaking free of my restraints with ease, I jumped to my feet and pulled the bag off my head to find myself standing in the back of horse-drawn cart. Make that a donkey-drawn cart.

A huffing, puffing donkey that was clearly pissed off about being jerked to an abrupt stop in the middle of nowhere.

Scanning the dirt road in either direction to find no trace of my apparent captors, I turned my gaze to the surrounding forest when a peculiar voice called out, “Oi! Blighter boy! Just what do ye think yer doing?”

Followed by a slightly lower yet equally as peculiar second voice that said, “Oi! You’re supposed to be asleep, blighter boy! We pulled you out of the bog fair and square. Just what do you think yer doing, eh?”

Thinking that was rather odd, I continued to scan the wood line as I called for the spatha and instantly felt the presence of the leather scabbard on my back. Ripping the otherworldly gladiator sword free, I slowly turned, looking for the source of voices but saw no one. “Show yourself!” I barked. “Or are you scared?”

And after a round of hearty laughter that had a definite maniacal vibe to it broke out from somewhere in the vicinity of the donkey, I leapt from the wagon with the spatha at the ready to find a couple of kids standing there snickering.

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