5 Onslaught Read Online Free PDF

ground shakes again, I spin around and find a stone-tipped club coming
toward my face. I lean back, dodging the weapon with just inches to spare. It’s
a minotaur , all mottled hair and musky stench. The
club looks small in its massive arms, but the swing overextends the creature,
leaving it open to attack...if I had a weapon. I glance back to Whipsnap, still
buried in the bird-lion’s throat, and I find two more griffins charging in from
behind.
    For
a moment, I think, where is Kainda ,
but then I’m forced to act. Before the minotaur can
recover from its missed blow, I leap toward it. While in motion, I reach into a
pouch on my right hip, pull out my homemade climbing claws and slip them onto
my hands. The claws, fashioned from feeder leather and feeder teeth, line my
palms for climbing and my knuckles for punching. They aren’t great for killing
Nephilim, but they don’t feel good, either.
    I
leap up to the minotaur’s left shoulder, grip handfuls
of its course, clumpy hair and swing myself around to its back. The creature
huffs in aggravation, but doesn’t react like I pose much of a threat. But
hunters do not need weapons to kill, nor control over the elements. And since
these monsters are Nephilim, I have no reason to hold back. It’s like fighting
robots. Or zombies. There is no moral roadblock
stopping me from inflicting maximum damage.
    I
wrap my legs around the creature’s waist, locking myself in place, and punch
the two-inch long, pointed teeth of my climbing claws into its back. The minotaur howls in pain and pitches forward. I twist my
hands, carving trenches into its flesh. The giant drops forward, lowering its
head like a true bull, just in time collide with one of the two charging
griffins.
    Several
things happen at once. The minotaur’s horn—it only has
one—pierces the griffin’s chest and snaps free. The griffin’s wail is cut short
when the horn slips through its lung. Meanwhile, the minotaur’s scream of pain is silenced when I wrap my hands around its neck and leap away,
drawing six blades across its throat. The second griffin collides with the
first and the minotaur , and tumbles wildly through the
grass, crushing a pair of harpies before coming to a stop.
    I
land beside the minotaur . Without missing a beat, I
snatch his crude club from the ground and rush the second griffin. One of its
eagle eyes snaps open just in time to see me bring the heavy stone down on its
head. As I turn to face the others, I’m thinking about Whipsnap. If I can get
my weapon back, this will be a whole lot easier. But when I face down my
enemies again, the chaos of battle I’m expecting is nowhere to be found.
    The
mythological creatures have gathered in a sort of formation. Two lines of harpies,
feathers puffed up and bristling, followed by gorgons and basilisks and then
finally a row of minotaurs . The griffins have all
taken to the skies and are circling like buzzards.
    The
giant centaur, its gray-bald head gleaming in the sunlight, stands at the front
of the rough-looking formation. It lowers its head toward me, not in reverence,
but in emphasis for its mentally spoken word.
    Ours.
    He
motions to his hooved feet. Mira lays, still motionless, in the grass. Her face
is coated in dirt and dried blood. Her clothing, an olive-drab green,
camouflage, combat uniform, is tattered and torn. Her jacket—if she had one—is
missing, revealing a black tank top that’s equally torn, showing her brown
skin. The tightness of the shirt also lets me get a good look at her back,
which rises and falls with each shallow breath.
    Still
alive.
    Thank God.
    I am
simultaneously filled with relief and fierce determination. I didn’t come this
far to find Mira, only to let her be killed and consumed by this freakish lot.
I grip the club tighter and step toward the centaur.
    Its mind
hums inside my head, pushing for a weakness.
    I take
another step forward, working on a battle plan. Centaur
first. Take out the knees. Then put