"Mel Odom - London 01 - Exodus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Odom Mel)

Rorke. As the First Guard of the House, his loyalty and courage were unquestionable.

He stood clad in the armor his father had helped him make in the eldritch forges beneath London, in the
hidden tunnels of the Underground the Freemasons had started building back in the seventeenth century.
Pewter-gray and black, the armor yet sparked with the arcane energies Thomas had pounded into the
metal when heтАЩd cast it. HeтАЩd also layered in NanoDyne upgrades that turned the armor into more of an
exoskeleton, powering him up rather than merely protecting him. HeтАЩd forged his sword as well, crafting
a Negotiator.

Made from an arcane alloy of palladium, strengthened by the holy energies Thomas had called to his
cause all those years ago, the sword was a fierce weapon. It was light enough to be employed with one
hand and sharp enough to slice through an engine block.

Yelling, Thomas raced forward to meet the beast, hoping to strike quickly enough to throw the Blood
AngelтАЩs timing off. Thomas attacked, swinging with all the considerable strength the armor lent him.

The demon stretched forth one of its lower extremities, intent on seizing ThomasтАЩs head. The sword met
the demonтАЩs clawed foot in a spray of green sparks. The keen blade sliced through the demonтАЩs leg,
lopping the limb off near the body. Black ropes of blood hit the ground and cathedral wall. The dark,
viscous liquid hissed and smoked.

Angry and in pain, the Blood Angel squawled and turned toward the dark sky.

Thomas followed the creature, moving to take advantage of the scant cover afforded by the trees along
the outside of St. PaulтАЩs Cathedral. Fires already danced along the top of the building, promising
complete destruction if they werenтАЩt put out.

A few weeks ago the London Fire Brigade might have been able to arrive in time to save the cathedral.
But most of those brave men and women were dead now, and the ones that hadnтАЩt fallen in battle or to a
disaster had other tragedies to deal with tonight. Death walked through the city on cloven hooves and
clawed feet.

The Blood Angel glided to the high branches of one of the nearby trees. It held the stump of its maimed
leg in its taloned hands. The crimson runes burned into the demonтАЩs skin glowed fiercely. Abruptly, the
severed stump stopped bleeding. Turning its baleful gaze on Thomas, the nightmarish creature launched
itself into the air and attacked again.

Spinning to his right, raising his armored left arm to provide some protection from attack, Thomas took a
fresh grip on his sword.

тАЬDown, Thomas!тАЭ

Thomas reacted instantly to the familiar voice of command, dropping into a crouching position. Armor
scraped against his own as someone took up a position at his back. Then he saw the squat, ugly body of
the six-barreled Spike Bolter thrust before him. Instantly, the pistol barked and jerked in the mailed fist.

Palladium bullets with sharpened tips erupted from the barrels as it whined to life. The rounds impaled
the Blood Angel, opening up bloody craters and furrows in the scaly flesh. Crossing its arms before its
head, seeking to protect its face, the demon veered away and gained altitude. The Spike Bolter kept
whining. Holes opened up in the demonтАЩs wings and allowed the moonlight to shine through.