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The RoundPart Three, please see my comment before reading.
The demon was beautiful. If Gorss believed in perfection, then he would have probably said that the word was invented after laying eyes on such a being. The demons skin seemed to glow and its features were pleasingly proportioned. But there was something else that made the demon so beautiful that Gorss almost lost himself, staring at its face.
Almost. The demon didnt look much different to the Overlord and its kind, the beasts that had stolen the freedoms of Gorss people, so that they lived in perpetual fear of divine retribution. Gorss, like the others, despised the Overlord and its kind. Their bloody struggle had culminated in the utter destruction of the Beasts brutal tyranny.
Gorss shifted position, and rearranged the assorted layers of clothing that he wore to try and keep himself warm. He coughed; deep retching paroxysms that he thought might tear his lungs from the inside of chest.
The Revolutionary - Part VIGorden's squad didn't waste any time once they left for Sarkhozi, and they travelled through the night along the main road from St. Loren to the capital city.
They were hampered as they approached Sarkhozi by refugees fleeing the fighting. Like the others, Miles didn't pay much attention to the harried and bleak faces of the fleeing. Everyone had been witness to enough horror. Exhaustion helped him sleep.
The Revolutionary headquarters for Sarkhozi were based in a huge warehouse on the north side of the Rozina river. The place was heaving with Revolutionaries on errands or just milling about. Someone had painted 'Headquarters for the liberation of Sarkhozi and Arydania' in green above the wide doors. The paint had run.
A makeshift mess had been set up to the side of the warehouse, using furniture looted from nearby houses. Revolutionaries lazing on armchairs and sofas sat next to comrades eating at dining tables complete with matching upholstered mahogany chairs. The squad took
The Revolutionary - Part V
They travelled until nightfall, when the darkness made it impossible to see they way. They wouldn't risk using spotlights or headlamps in the dark.
They ate a perfunctory meal without a fire.
Miles lay with his pack for a pillow. The night was filled with the chopping thrum of helicopters. But that wasn't why he couldn't sleep.
Miles was relearning his entire standing in this war. He had been told that the Government and the King were evil. He realised that the Revolutionaries were no better.
He was lying in the middle of the countryside next to people in which he had no idea of the atrocities they could have committed. He felt alone. He missed Lucas and Helan. At least he could trust them. His old life was little more than a dream now.
But Rebekah didn't seem the type. If what she said was true, she was more of a victim than anything else. Why was she fighting? And the way she looked at Gorden, almost like a father.
* * *
Miles did sleep; fitfully and so disturbe
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