Legacies by Patrick Stewart
English | 2020 | Fantasy | ePUB | 2.3 MB
Legacies are the children of Immortals, humans with immense speed and power, humans that can potentially live forever.
In a world full of demons and angels, Martial is a pretty carefree Legacy. That is, until a new threat arrives, a threat that could change the balance of power in favour of the demons.
There is only one way for Martial to face this new threat. Pull his socks up, take on a bunch of beautiful Legacies to train as apprentices, and march into battle against this new foe.
It was a warm summers evening. Martial sat upon his large black stallion, a sheepskin flask of wine in hand, he rode gently down the road, heading towards Coldstream, a small settlement that was formerly on the border of what were known as the countries of England and Scotland.
It was now at the border between the human and demon territories.
The world had changed a lot in the past three hundred years. It was like living in a parallel universe, a really fucked up one with demons. Martial took a swig from his flask. The wine was warm, which was never good. But it did keep him feeling relaxed. He smiled.
That smile turned into a frown as he spotted smoke rising in the distance, beyond the evergreen trees that grew on both sides of the road.
Martial gave a gentle tap with his left leg against the horse. His stallion broke into a slow trot. Nothing more was necessary. If there was a fire, it meant the humans were already dead, and the demons were on their way either back to their hideout, or onto the next farm to pillage, rape and murder.
As the stallion turned around the corner, and the trees gave way to flat farmland, the farmhouse came in view.
It was one of the older farmhouses, made from redbrick left un-rendered, a gabled roof and a chimney on one side. The smoke wasn’t coming from the chimney. It was coming from the barn beside the house.
Standing outside the farmhouse were three demons, two were blue in colour, the third was red. They stood with their backs leaning against the low wooden fence that surrounded the property.
Martial continued at his pace and took another gulp of his wine. As he came up to the path that led off the former motorway and down to the farmhouse, he stopped.
“What up fellas,” Martial waved at the demons.
The three demons turned to look at him.
Martial reached into the leather bag that rested from his saddle and pulled out a red apple. He bit into it as the demons stared at him.
“What are you guys doing here?” Martial asked. “This is human territory. Belongs to-” he paused as he struggled to remember which Queen ruled over this godforsaken land. “Can’t remember,” he muttered. He took another bite of his apple. “You guys lost?”
“We’re not lost, human,” the red-skinned demon growled. “You must be drunk or stupid to stop. You should flee on your horse while you still can.”
Martial continued to eat his apple as he watched the demons before him. They were all fairly big, over six feet in height, two of the demons had small horns on their heads. They wore leather jackets and leather pants. Demons loved leather, and always seemed to dress in a similar fashion. By their waist, they carried sheathed swords.