The Elemental Heist

By Sherif Guirguis

Cole decided to leave the underworld and its shadows behind, and to achieve this, he needed to steal the most secure treasure in the realm, the elemental batteries.

But he couldn't possibly pull this alone, so, he assembles a group of society rejects; a cursed dwarf, a failed air sorcerer, a stripped of his powers necromancer, and the lowest of the undead, the shade of a beggar.

With a group of thieves like those, who needs luck?

A humor fantasy about the theft of the century, and an army of fleas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherif Guirguis
• Release date: Feb 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393474586

Sherif Guirguis

An Egyptian by birth, cosmopolitan by convection, Sherif started writing at a very young age, and he didn't stop since then. He always thought that our world needed a dash of magic, and this is what he always included in his writings. Originally a medical doctor, but he decided to leave medicine behind to pursue his passion for the word since then he wrote three books. The chronicles of Agartha: Book 1 - The Green boy, is his third book, his first was “The Door,” a magical realism thriller, and the second was “The Trinity's Dream,” a contemporary fantasy about the end of days. He is happily married and has two daughters, whom he adores. He is always happy to receive news from his readers on his email: [e-mail]

Book preview

Five men gathered around a flagon of wine. Well, it was not a real flagon; real flagons would not lower themselves to the standards of the establishment these five chose to gather in. In fact, the wine was of so poor a quality it qualified to be prized vinegar to season the drinkers’ throats rather than palate them. So, to recapture the image, five men were gathered around a flagon of nothing that resembles wine.

Outside, brown dirty rain kept on its journey forever downwards and sometimes sideways, flooding the muddy streets of Haboria the capital city of the opulent kingdom of Moloria with an impressive layer of brown slush which passersby couldn’t really distinguish wither it came from the bowels of hell below or fell on their heads from above. Except in the area surrounding the temple of the elements three hundred cubits away, where the most adapted of all elemental sorcerers kept residence, studied and granted their service at excruciatingly high prices to the populace; namely the cream top of Moloria.

Above the temple, by about twenty cubits the rain sloshed in a lake suspended in the air, bounded and contained by very strong air magic. It occasionally sloshed over the side into the streets around the temple totally drenching the already wet passersby. Rain sloshed to the sides because it usually had vindictive thoughts when it hung above the temple; it madly thought what those foolish mortals are trying to stop? Let’s put the wetness of the gods in their pants and their underpants, or at least let’s drench their guards and porters. Unbeknownst to the rain, the sorcerers didn’t really give a damn who the rain wets as long as it was not them.

The five men were gathered inside not to escape the rain; this was not a gathering of men afraid of wetness, even if aforementioned wetness drenched their underpants. In fact, for those five men, wetness was a thing that happened to other people, the necromancer with his body covering tattoos was protected from all kinds of water, including holy water, a natural deterrent to his lively hood, the undead. This is why necromancers stink and have an aura of being unwashed forever; it was a privilege of the job, well, for people who rather spend their time with the