Clouds of Tyranny Read Online Free PDF Page A

arm, trying to keep it from his throat. Through the ceiling
fell a third man, no weapon in hand, that grabbed Locke by the
throat with both hands and flung him to the floor. He looked over
at Terra and gave her an evil smile of satisfaction just before
lifting his knee up in an attempt to stomp Locke’s skull into mush;
luckily, Locke saw this and did a log roll to his left to avoid the
critical blow to his skull. Locke proceeded to twist his hips and
scissor kicked his way through the back of his attackers knees,
dropping him to the floor to where they were now equals. Locke
leaped atop him, straddling his thighs and preceded to punch either
side of the imperials head; he could feel his temples battling with
the bones in Locke’s knuckles. The man was in neverland. However,
the front sliding door was jimmying open as Locke looked at it
realizing he didn’t bolt it when he returned that morning, then it
slid wide open as the Empire employee stood there in the doorway
looking at Locke, basically salivating at the thought of ended the
life of the Returner. The imperial was obviously very overzealous
as he kicked Locke’s sheathed blade toward him in an expression of
a blade-to-blade challenge. Locke sat there on the floor with legs
flat and a bloody nose and lips as he gripped the blade as he
kneeled on a knee and quietly rose to his feet. Unsheathing his
sword, a black and white spackled double-edged blade that belonged
to his father…the Damascus! He slammed his sheath down to the floor
and got ready for a fight.
    Locke wasn’t exactly a
bodybuilder, or a military type, or even in decent shape for that
matter, but he was an incredible swordsman who didn’t fear death or
the afterlife. The imperial made the first move; skipping forward
with sword in hand not three inches in front of his own face. Locke
stood stoic with sword drawn at his side waiting for his
opportunity for a counter attack while trying not to get shot in
the back in the process. The man yelled as he swiped the sword at
Locke’s head at which ricocheted it away when Locke raised his
sword and the imperial continued violently swinging at random parts
of Locke’s body as if her were chopping wood. Locke parried and
blocked each attack with ease until the swordsman made the dire
mistake of attempting an obviously unskilled thrust towards Locke’s
chest: Locke merrily sidestepped it and spun around with his
Damascus barreling through the back of the man’s neck as his head
fell to the floor while the imperial’s body still stood for a few
seconds before following. Locke looked down at the man as his
headless body dropped to its knees and began flailing on the floor,
still being powered by the final reactions of his nerves. The
gunman turned his aim upon Locke after a brief moment of shock his
forefinger began to pull. “No!” screamed Terra as she pushed the
man in his chest with both palms against his rib cage, causing the
man to be pushed through the window and through the steel bars: the
bars spreading like a welcoming gate made of straw. The man flew
through the opening and down the thirty-foot drop as well as thirty
feet out like ten men had hit him with sledgehammers. He hit the
concrete ground and star-shaped splatter of blood erupted from the
back of his skull, as he lay there lifeless and unthreatening. She
gazed down at him through the window in awe of his weakness (or her
strength), How did that happen? She thought, an
adrenaline soaked increase in strength? Locke looked at her in amazement and gave her a look of
thanks as he turned to pick up his sheath when the ceiling-dropping
imperial had awakened and sprung up on him. He managed to liberate
the sword from Locke’s grasp and fling it across the room and was
now fight him on all fours. Terra looked around: the gun on the
floor, she picked it up and aimed it shakily at the two men
wrestling on the floor. Locke was on bottom with the man’s hands on
his throat gingerly trying to fight