Ironheart Apocalypse – Dante King

* * * The wasteland spread endlessly before them. Black-glass plains reflected the sky in bloody streaks across the horizon. Changying walked at the head of the column, with Qinglan at his side. Lieutenant Yan Ming followed three paces behind, and the fifty soldiers marched in tight formation after him. The four dark sages ranged ahead as scouts. The first day passed in silence broken only by the crunch of boots on volcanic soil and the distant rumble of lava rivers.

Qinglan gestured toward a shattered tower rising from the wasteland like a broken tooth. “That was the old Outpost Twelve,” she said. “It once held ten thousand warriors. The Yemo clan tried to take it during the Second Border War.” “They failed?” Changying asked. “Spectacularly.” She smiled faintly. “They relied on illusion spells, but one of our Elders simply burned everything our forces couldn’t see clearly into ash with hellfire.

The Yemo lost three thousand warriors before they retreated.” Changying studied the ruins. Scorch marks still marred the obsidian walls. He could make out the remains of ballistae on the upper ramparts and the skeletons of siege engines scattered across the approach. “How long ago was that?” “Eight hundred years, give or take.”

He blinked. “Your people hold grudges.” “We remember,” she corrected him gently. “There’s a difference.” They walked on. The black-glass plains gave way to cracked earth that bled steam from fissures. A lava river cut across their path. The soldiers halted at its edge while Tao Ming walked along the bank, searching for a crossing point. After a few minutes, he found a natural bridge of cooled stone a hundred paces downstream.

The column crossed in a single file. Changying went first. The stone was solid beneath his boots, but heat radiated up through the soles. Sweat beaded on his brow by the time he reached the far side. Qinglan crossed without visible discomfort. Her robes didn’t even wilt in the heat. That would be her Bloodline in effect, Changying figured, as he helped her off the bridge.

Past the lava river, the terrain changed again. Obsidian forests rose from the scorched ground. The trees were petrified, and their trunks were fused into strange, twisted shapes. They had no leaves or branches. To Changying, they seemed to be black spires reaching toward the crimson sky. Qinglan led them into the forest. The air cooled. Shadows gathered between the trunks, and Changying let his hand drift to the hilt of his sword.

An hour later, they were under attack. A dozen juvenile taotie burst from the shadows in a combined rush, with their maws bared and their rings of teeth on full display. Changying drew his darkling sword and summoned his astral blades. Thirty-six glowing swords materialized around him and lanced out to pin the juveniles against nearby tree trunks and the ground.

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WANT MORE STORIES? Facebook Fan Group Follow me on Amazon Immortal Swordslinger Bone Lord OCEANOFPDF.COM 1 Dawn crept over the Old North Road. Mist clung to the rice paddies on either side, draped low and heavy. Lu Changying rode alone on a plain bay gelding, the kind of sturdy mount any border garrison might requisition. The silence was broken only by leather creaking and hooves clopping. Changying’s charcoal-gray outer robe was tied over the plain and unadorned steel chain shirt underneath. His plain sword rested in its battered black sheath across the saddlebow.

Changying drew it briefly, and the blade whispered free. He reflexively checked the edge. His own reflection stared back from the polished steel. Warm dark- brown eyes with flecks of gold. A square jaw that needed a shave. His shifu had called his face honest, while the other sects called it common. Thick black hair tied in a practical warrior’s tail, already coming loose at the temples from the ride.

He shook his head at himself. Not bad for a farm boy who used to haul night soil for coppers. Changying slid the blade home and patted the gelding’s neck. The horse snorted, unimpressed. He was twenty-six, the youngest disciple of the Iron Heart Sword Sect who’d attained the rank of Iron Heart Sage in three centuries. The rank was more than just an empty title. Xian from across the Empire knew what it signified. Reaching the cultivation stage of Late Core Condensation at his age was the stuff of legends amongst all the orthodox sects.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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• Unique ID: fada35862cb4b577
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 2,290,253 bytes (2.184 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 446
• Language: English (en)

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• Total Words: 124,490
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