Novelas y relatos de Arthur And The Minimoys

The Southern wolves began to howl in terror, turning and leaping back into the churning river, desperate to get away from the small child on the bank. "Solomon!" Phineas ran forward, grabbing the boy’s waist and yanking him back. The connection broke. Arthur collapsed, face-first into the filth. He wasn't dead, but he was hollow. He lay there, twitching, his eyes staring at nothing. Solomon blinked. The shadows retracted. The obsidian in his eyes faded back to silver-black. He looked at Arthur, then at his own hands. "He was very empty," Solomon said. Phineas looked at Arthur. The man who had destroyed his life was now a shell, broken by a seven-year-old. He felt no pity. Only a cold, sharp

Whereas before I had doubted that I could continue, now it was as if I was invincible. "Is that you?" I whispered incredulously, feeling a burst of energy and joy flow through my body. "How are you doing this?" "We are doing this," Arna replied with satisfaction. "And now, we are going to show Arthur who's in charge here!" I didn't need any more convincing. I immediately knew what to do. I lowered my head and charged at Arthur, moving lightning fast. Before Arthur could move a muscle I found myself standing in front of him, swiping my razor-sharp claws across his face. I heard his sharp intake of breath and knew he was both in pain and caught by surprise.

The one who held my hand when we were children, who flinched at thunderstorms, who promised No. I bite down on the memory until it bleeds. Can’t afford it. Not now. A sound. To my left. A wet, rattling breath. Arthur. Or what’s left of him. He’s slumped against a pulsing wall of sinew and bone, his body more root than flesh, bark-like skin split open in places, oozing something dark and viscous. His eyesstill his, still awarefind mine. His lips move. No sound comes out.