Leftovers (A Darkness Rising)

By Y. F. Desince II

Praxis has consorted with demons and devils to master the magic no mortal was meant to hold. Now a master diabolist, Praxis is nearing the end of his goal. Revenge against his former master for turning him away. With research on his enemy nearly complete, only one question remains. Is he ready?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Y. F. Desince II
• Release date: Jun 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463742907

Y. F. Desince II

Having grown up in the heart of New York City, I am the consummate bard, collecting and telling stories for the sheer joy of it, even before moving to the Midwest. I have recently started my newest journey. As a single father raising a family, I have not lost my zest for a good story, and have collected enough seeds to start a garden of my own. I prefer to write dark fantasy, and am currently in the middle of several short stories and a novel series on a world of my own creation. I am also am working on projects in other genres, including a horror novel and a superhero anthology.

Book preview

A Darkness Rising presents:

Leftovers

Y.F. Desince, II

Published by Iconz Publishing

at Smashwords

Copyright 2020 Y.F.Desince, II

Discover other titles by Y.F. Desince, II:

Tale of a Minor Chord

Dark Harvest

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Leftovers

The porcelain bowl slid across the polished obsidian table with a simple grace and barely any spin at all. The bowl glided down the entire length of the table, past stacks of paper piled high, before slowing and coming to a rest a few inches from the end. This it did without spilling so much as a drop, barely jostling the stew within it. And there it waited for its intended recipient, who seemed not to notice it. Undaunted, the bowl sat there, allowing the aroma of its contents to waft gently into the air, slowly filling the library with its tantalizing scent.

The human at the end of the table, for whom the meal was intended for, was focused on his task. He sat staring at the sheet of parchment before him, his quill writing impossibly fast and accurately, only occasionally dipping into an ink well filled with a dark red, viscous liquid.

It was long moments before he even moved and when he did, it was his long-pointed nose that twitched. He turned sharply to glare at the bowl. His bushy, bright fiery eyebrows rose in surprise, and his mouth twitched in a rare smile. He regarded the bowl for a long