BooksBarbecue
Back World After Save as PDF
Chapters (81)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. CONTENTS
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  81. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

In the twilight, his white-wing covering sparkles like stars in the summer sky. I never would have guessed that beneath that covering lies a pair of scythe-edged demon wings.

Does he recognize me yet?

Uriel’s group begins leaping off the stage and taking to the air like a multi-winged organism. Beliel is the last to leave. He opens his stolen wings to their full glory and starts to beat the air.

Raffe leaps and tackles him.

They slam onto the stage with a bang, but no one notices one more pair of warriors fighting.

We are now the only ones left on stage. Below us is the shrieking slaughter. Above us is the seemingly never-ending mass of scorpions thundering through their flyby. In between, it’s a drunken angel free-for-all with some even having mid-air collisions.

A bloodied angel thunks onto the stage from above.

So much blood streaks from him that it splashes onto my dress. His shoulder is badly ripped like he got scraped against the pointy tip of a lamppost. But he doesn’t seem to notice as he jumps up, instantly ready for more.

I become acutely aware that I’m the only human around.

57

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WHAT I wouldn’t give for Raffe’s sword right now.

The bloody angel takes a step toward me.

I snatch a high-class steak knife from the table and kick off my heels.

Or I try to.

One of my heels refuses to come off without a helping hand. Either my foot has swelled or the shoe was too small for me.

I don’t know a single fighting art that doesn’t require good footwork, and I’m pretty sure that having one bare foot and one in high heels is not a recommended technique.

My dress is also a problem. It’s full length and shapely. It looks great but doesn’t exactly give me enough room to kick. My legs are the strongest part of my body and I’m not about to hobble myself in a fight for the sake of modesty. I slit my knife through a seam, ripping the skirt all the way to my thigh.

I angle the knife so it’ll slip between his ribs when I stab.

The throat is a better target but I’m too short to go for that with this beast. At least not on the first thrust. The second move, after he’s taken a hit, is another story.

He almost smiles at my knife as if that just adds more fun. He raises an eyebrow when he sees that I’m holding it like I know how to use it. But his sword stays untouched in its scabbard as if this massacre and brawl don’t merit the use of his sword.

His eyes are focused on my knife and face. Easy to do since my hands are up near my face in a fighter stance.