The House of Grey- Volume 4 Read Online Free
Author: Collin Earl
same phenomenon was once again flooded the space completely encapsulating Casey .
Monson stared through the mist. Stark differences in Casey’s signature move became readily apparent the more Monson watched him . He noticed the difference in stance, the use of both hands instead of one, and the dramatic increase in energy. However, t he changes were minor and unimportant in comparison with what really caught Monson off g uard. He, Monson Grey, was unable see Casey’s flash fist with any amount of clarity as he had just moments before . The image of the mist broke in and out of his vision like a television on the fritz . He could see it , then he could not . He could see it. He could not see it. HE COULD SEE IT. HE COULD NOT SEE IT. Monson watched as the MIBs finally on their feet ran toward Casey. The Flash Fist energy discharge as Casey struck the two MIB in the head.
Supernatural wind, accelerated and energy infused, deafened him, causing minor but potent vertigo. All extraneous and mundane appetites dulled as a sudden plateau of clarity cruised on mental turbo boosters and peaked. Realization, like light from heaven, formulated and highlighted the understanding that Casey’s power — the very power that swarmed their surroundings like locust s— was not unique to Casey . This power, whatever it was, was inside Monson, too.
The realization breech something within him as a second voice tuned in loud and clear . This second voice was calming yet stern, and sounded strikingly like his own .
Enough of this Keeper it is not your time. Release him.
The spiritual powers inside of him, converged and conflicted, came crashing into one another driving Monson to the brink of his own sanity. The battle of diverging entities was like nothing he could have imagined, vast and unearthly. Endlessly images rifled through him until the vision of a single individual standing in a lush valley jumped out so suddenly that Monson took an unsure step back.
The man stood in the distance indistinct but detailed, his savage blood lust and torn raiment readily noticeable—then Monson’s overhead view changed, the camera careening faster and faster until the vision came to rest on a pair of savage silver eyes.
The eyes bore down upon him.
The cold voice spoke again.
Let Me Out.
Monson pushed it away, tried to run, but he was helpless under the influence of the silver eyes. He was going to fall and there was nothing he could do about it. Another voice spoke.
I told you LET…HIM…GO.
Fiery pain fought against foreign emotion that held Mons on captive the intangibles taking on a new meaning and life as they strove against one another. The pain slithered up his body as his view shifted sharply. A pillar of bright silver light slammed into the ground, sending debris and energy everywhere. Once the light lessened, and the dust settled, a person wrapped in a silver mist drove the man in the open field back. Monson could not see the face of the second figure as the two combatants were engaged with in an all out struggle, but he tried desperately to do so ignoring the steady increase in physical pain. The new comer gestured in a controlled manner, the mists of silver swirling and trailing as fingers flew through the air. The figure spoke though inaudibly. Monson beheld columns of pure energy falling and trapping the man with the silver eyes. At this Monson fell to his knees, grabbing his head as the supernatural flowed from him leavi ng a mass of confusion behind.
Chapter 39 - Vision
All was silent. No wind, no energy, no creepy voices in his head; there was nothing—nothing, but the heaviness of night and his own staggering confusion. He grimaced as he grappled with his frustration. He was growing so tired of unexplainable, unbelievable events.
“Grey? Are you OK?”
Monson opened his eyes as a final burning sensation dissipated and the glare of silver eyes faded, its lingering traces blinding him. Casey and Artorius
Monson stared through the mist. Stark differences in Casey’s signature move became readily apparent the more Monson watched him . He noticed the difference in stance, the use of both hands instead of one, and the dramatic increase in energy. However, t he changes were minor and unimportant in comparison with what really caught Monson off g uard. He, Monson Grey, was unable see Casey’s flash fist with any amount of clarity as he had just moments before . The image of the mist broke in and out of his vision like a television on the fritz . He could see it , then he could not . He could see it. He could not see it. HE COULD SEE IT. HE COULD NOT SEE IT. Monson watched as the MIBs finally on their feet ran toward Casey. The Flash Fist energy discharge as Casey struck the two MIB in the head.
Supernatural wind, accelerated and energy infused, deafened him, causing minor but potent vertigo. All extraneous and mundane appetites dulled as a sudden plateau of clarity cruised on mental turbo boosters and peaked. Realization, like light from heaven, formulated and highlighted the understanding that Casey’s power — the very power that swarmed their surroundings like locust s— was not unique to Casey . This power, whatever it was, was inside Monson, too.
The realization breech something within him as a second voice tuned in loud and clear . This second voice was calming yet stern, and sounded strikingly like his own .
Enough of this Keeper it is not your time. Release him.
The spiritual powers inside of him, converged and conflicted, came crashing into one another driving Monson to the brink of his own sanity. The battle of diverging entities was like nothing he could have imagined, vast and unearthly. Endlessly images rifled through him until the vision of a single individual standing in a lush valley jumped out so suddenly that Monson took an unsure step back.
The man stood in the distance indistinct but detailed, his savage blood lust and torn raiment readily noticeable—then Monson’s overhead view changed, the camera careening faster and faster until the vision came to rest on a pair of savage silver eyes.
The eyes bore down upon him.
The cold voice spoke again.
Let Me Out.
Monson pushed it away, tried to run, but he was helpless under the influence of the silver eyes. He was going to fall and there was nothing he could do about it. Another voice spoke.
I told you LET…HIM…GO.
Fiery pain fought against foreign emotion that held Mons on captive the intangibles taking on a new meaning and life as they strove against one another. The pain slithered up his body as his view shifted sharply. A pillar of bright silver light slammed into the ground, sending debris and energy everywhere. Once the light lessened, and the dust settled, a person wrapped in a silver mist drove the man in the open field back. Monson could not see the face of the second figure as the two combatants were engaged with in an all out struggle, but he tried desperately to do so ignoring the steady increase in physical pain. The new comer gestured in a controlled manner, the mists of silver swirling and trailing as fingers flew through the air. The figure spoke though inaudibly. Monson beheld columns of pure energy falling and trapping the man with the silver eyes. At this Monson fell to his knees, grabbing his head as the supernatural flowed from him leavi ng a mass of confusion behind.
Chapter 39 - Vision
All was silent. No wind, no energy, no creepy voices in his head; there was nothing—nothing, but the heaviness of night and his own staggering confusion. He grimaced as he grappled with his frustration. He was growing so tired of unexplainable, unbelievable events.
“Grey? Are you OK?”
Monson opened his eyes as a final burning sensation dissipated and the glare of silver eyes faded, its lingering traces blinding him. Casey and Artorius
Readers choose
Max Brand
A W. Exley
Robin Cook
Vivek Shraya
Chantelle Shaw
Goldsmith Olivia
Elisabeth Roseland
Janette Oke, T Davis Bunn
Danielle Jaida & Bennett Jones
Patricia A. Knight