Phantasmagoria

By R Kain

The role of an exorcist was to protect the people of the world from the departed who refused to move on and the damned who clung to the mortal realm. Whether the threat was a Spirit, a Fiend, or a Demon, they would never give up, even if the world around them remained ignorant of their sacrifices. But there were always exceptions to the rules.

Alexia Sinclair made her disdain of her duty as an ectomancer in the service of the exorcists and so-called higher powers clear. She hated the burden that rested within her soul, taking without giving and eating away at her sense of self. The life she lived was one that would end without a clean death one way or another.

However, when one of the few people in the world who she allowed herself to care for was killed in the line of duty, she returned to the place of her birth to get revenge. Armed with a gun in one hand and the Gytrash tearing at her soul, the exorcism that took place would be one that would test her resolve.

This [14, 000+ word] paranormal-horror story is the second in the Neverliese series and completely stand-alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R Kain
• Release date: Apr 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311879622

R Kain

Author:R.Kain is an author of various short stories and novellas centered on Urban Fantasy in contemporary settings. These tales tend to be dark, where good may or may not triumph over evil, but the price will be high, and sometimes the line between them is non-existent. Heroes may be just as dirty as the villains, but in the end, the only one they must answer to is themselves.Hobbies:* Reading* Writing* Playing Videos GamesFavorite Genre Book: FictionFavorite Genre Game: RPG

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Phantasmagoria

(Neverliese, #2)

By: R. Kain

Published by R. Kain

Copyright © 2014 R. Kain Fantasy

First Edition

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A Girl and Her Dog

The woods were silent, yet they brought me no peace. If anything it made the hammering of my heart louder as the leaves and twigs beneath my boot crunched and snapped under my weight. Given that it would be dark soon, the horizon light peeking past the autumn foliage gave the forest faint warmth to take the edge off the biting chill. The silence was all the more damning when you considered the lack of…well, any living mammal.

There were no bird calls or squirrels scuttling above on the twisted limbs of the trees. Nor were there rodents or raccoons moving around on the leaf and twig carpeted earth. The lack of any major game such as deer was also noted.

There was, however, a damning smell that mingled with the countless insects to give away the fact that my target was still here. The scent of death and the undead were unforgettable to us. It was because we followed that scent we found this particular patch of woodland, where the glutinous carnivore brought its prey and feasted on their flesh to compensate for the lack of its own. We had to be close.

Crunch. Another step gave rise to a particularly loud crunch from beneath my left boot. I halted my advance and removed my foot to reveal a spattering of color that contrasted the fallen leaves that narrowly covered it. Leaning down I brushed the warm-colored foliage away and discovered a human femur that was covered in half-dried blood and dirt. There were patches of uneaten meat and muscle still on it.

Any doubts I had about it being here were squashed as an ethereal chill rolled over my body and centered along my spine. The sensation of being watched, a primal instinct, felt almost palpable now that I had arrived in the nexus of its hunting grounds. It was here—lurking, waiting, hunting as it did after taking on the role of the apex predator from those that skulked around prior to its dark metempsychosis—and I was to be the hunted.

Calm down. I let out a deep breath to center myself. I—no, we had been in worse situations before. Hunter and hunted, predator and prey, the roles had been reversed numerous times only to be swapped around again and we came out on top every time. There was nothing new on that front.

I pulled out the heavy metal that weighed down the deep pockets of the trench coat I wore, a snub-nosed revolver that had some Latin inscription engraved along the barrel. I didn’t read Latin, but when they gave me the gun they said executioner blades bore a similar inscription in the past. The ideal was that while it was a sin to kill a fellow human, the executioners were absolved of it when using the weapon in the name of their God.

When I was conscripted into this life, many of the