Prologue

  Some would say that the man lying still next to his boot was a voice of freedom, a paragon of truth. Logan knew the dead man’s real goals. They were a glory hound. They wanted to be the next Joseph Pulitzer. They wanted to be remembered for exposing the most protected secret in human history. They admitted that they didn’t care if their actions would destroy hundreds of thousands of lives. They could have started wars against peaceful forces that would eliminate much of humanity. For the greater good they needed to be stopped, and that’s what he did.

  The next step was to modify the information stored on their computer. Logan wasn’t very tech-savvy so the fact he was able to replace all of the dangerous files with paranoid nonsense only by plugging in a single thumb drive he was given was amazing. He shook his head as he removed it after its red light turned green. There was no doubt some sort of backups or clouded information but that was someone else’s job. He was just the cover up.

  Assassinations disguised as accidents were standard for millennia, though it was getting harder over the last century or so. He killed the journalist with a broken neck so a fall wouldn’t be difficult to fake. There were a few options he could take. He couldn’t just throw them down some stairs because how the bruises developed and any bones broken in the fall would prove it happened after death. Maybe a slip in the shower would work. They lived away from everyone so even if they “survived” the initial impact no one would have been able to help in time.

  After stripping the journalist and setting up everything, he left. The rot and decay from how long it would take for anyone to come and check on the unpleasant recluse should cover up anything he missed. He was on the house’s first floor and about to leave when gunfire filled the air. He dropped instinctively. From the sound he assumed that there were at least three enemies all equipped with semi-auto rifles.

  Logan ignored the question on who it was and focused on survival. His muscles twitched as he took stock of his injuries. There were two pains in his chest from where his vest stopped a pair of bullets and a searing pain in his forearm from an actual hit. One bullet wound and some bruising, he’d gone through worse. He pushed through and retreated further into the house.

  Without slowing he found the furthest window and charged. With crossed arms protecting his face, he dove. The crash hurt like a bitch as the glass cut into his arms and face. After landing with a roll, he fled into the nearby forest and got his bearings. He quickly found an outcrop of bushes and hid inside. He pushed energy into his muscles and injuries as he waited. Retreat wasn’t an option, he needed answers. Only a few seconds later four men in full combat gear rounded the house with M-16s ready.

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  With silent breaths he analyzed them from his hiding place and found them strange. Their kit said they were professional soldiers or mercenaries while how they moved said they were trained but inexperienced. They were slow when making decisions like they had to remember what they needed to do. The biggest abnormality is that he couldn’t hear their footsteps or smell them. Even the scent of gunpowder was missing.

  One of them did some hand signs separating them into teams of two.

  When he decided on his first pair of targets, he drew his preferred weapons of pistol in his left hand and a sword in his right. He needed to be fast and brutal. When his targets got close enough, he burst from the bushes he was hiding in and fired two shots from his pistol. One was taken in the head while the other took it in the shoulder. The wounded one screamed silently and tried to shoot him but was prevented by a quick slash and decapitation.

  Only after their death did they return to normal. Logan heard the crunch of leaves under their falling bodies and smelled their blood. As he was taking a closer look, the remaining two gunmen opened fire. He felt an impact on his back armor as he transferred some energy from his wounds to his muscles, pushing them further

  “Damn,” he growled as he heard sirens approaching quickly.

  The fight was now on a timer. The last thing he needed was to be seen by a cop’s body cam. Whoever invented the damn things could burn in the Demon Realm. Police could be useful while simultaneously being extremely inconvenient when they showed up at the wrong time.

  Using the trees as cover, he dashed closer while taking pot shots. He wanted to end it as quickly as he could. When one fell from a leg wound the other looked away as he watched his companion. That opening signaled the end of the fight. With a final dash and thrush, his sword skewered their heart.

  The victorious hunter pushed the dead from his blade and quickly turned to his final target while returning his weapons to their places. He was about to begin interrogating them when their mouth soundlessly moved under their mask before laughing and convulsing. The only thing he found in the few seconds he gave himself was a necklace with a symbol he quickly recognized.

  When the sirens were accompanied by shouting he dropped everything and retreated.

  What do you look forward to the most in a new fantasy book?