By Eduardo Spohr
During this story that's the first spin-off of the best-seller "A Batalha do Apocalipse", a gaggle of angels of Gabriel is shipped to Earth to enquire what looks an easy case of a prisioned spirit. during undertaking, the angels discover clues of a potential conspiracy that, if proven, can hazard the insurgent armies and revert the stability of the heaven powers.
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Additional info for A Torre das Almas
Glim, missing an arm; Glim, headless; Glim bound in chains and about to be thrown overboard … Something rattled at her door, and her heart actually skipped a beat. She‟d always thought that was just an expression. She stood, fingers knotted in fists she didn‟t really know how to use, waiting. The door opened, a snout appeared, and large reptilian eyes that sagged deep in their wrinkled sockets. “Captain,” she said, making her voice as cold as possible. “We‟re in deep water,” he grated. “Don‟t be foolish and try to swim for it.
I think it bit me,” she said. “No,” he said, squatting to examine her. “If it had, you wouldn‟t have a leg. ” She brushed her eyes and looked around. They weren‟t on land—at least, not the mainland. Instead they rested on a tiny island hardly more than a few inches above the water. Indeed, at high tide it would certainly be below water. “She‟s too big to follow us in here,” he said. ” “Yes, well at least I‟m bleeding,” Annaïg managed to quip. “Yah. ” But if there were sharks around, they didn‟t fancy the taste of Breton blood, because they made it to the shore without incident.
Vague, gibbering cries, unholy shrieks of agony and fear, babbling in languages she did not know. It sent scorpions down her back. ” She strained at the jungle floor below the island, where the sounds seemed to be coming from, but couldn‟t make anything out through morning haze, distance, and thick vegetation. She turned her attention back to the island, to the glowing strands it trailed. They might have been spider silk spun from lightning, some flashing briefly brighter than others. She realized they weren‟t trailing, but dropping down from the center of the base, vanishing into the treetops, flashing white and then withdrawn into the island‟s belly.
A Torre das Almas by Eduardo Spohr