Free Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1) by Al Halsey Page A

covered by an ornate black robe, sewn with tiny gold plates and jewelry. Two small hands ended in talons; four fingers and a gold-tipped thumb like a man. The most terrifying part of the diminutive demon was its head. The huge jaw was lined with teeth like a crocodile. The jaw was rounder than one of the beasts that infested the Nile, the upper jaw slightly larger than the lower. No nose was visible. The abomination’s forehead was hideously swelled to protrude over dark, piercing eyes. Jagged horns jutted from the brow of the beast, each topped with a sharp, gold cap. Even more disturbing than the malformed features of the devil, was that the flesh of the thing was translucent. Shadows and lines of the columns behind the beast were visible through the corpulent skin.
    The thing pointed a gold claw towards the soldiers. Laelius screamed and for a second he stared at Lucius. The two made eye contact and Lucius could feel the despair in his comrade’s eyes. Smoothly, with practiced skill Laelius put the point of his gladius against the bottom of his chin, breathed deep and ran the blade up into his skull. Blood flowed as the sword punctured the top of his galea, the tip of the blade pushed all the way up and out his helmet.
    The soldier toppled and twitched, the gladius still impaled through his brain and head. Lucius gritted his teeth at the sight. He was now the only survivor of the Triarri of legionnaires that had marched into this hell from Memphis. He turned forward again to see more of the monsters that had crept out of the darkness. It faced him. Shaky fingers grasped one of the fallen soldiers’ javelins, and hurled the pilum into the line of devils. The javelin skewered one of the beasts that had not yet risen up in a twisted parody of a man on inhuman legs.
    The shaft impaled itself through the ornate robe. The thing shuddered and clawed at the stone floor, gold tipped nails sparked against the rock. In the midst of the gale, another voice chattered, shriller than the others, and it cut through the noise. It was the screams of the monster, ran through with the pilum.
    The other crocodile men staggered to their feet, their nailed hands drew wicked curved blades from folds in dark robes. Lucius pulled his gladius and stood fast behind his shield.
    “Whatever you are, you die like any other creature on the earth. Come on then!”
    The air chilled, the gale-force winds lashed against him as the unearthly chatter grew louder. The things came forward, their blades poised to slice as they moved. Behind his scutum, he waited for the abominations that inhabited the deep darkness under the desert.
     
    Augustinus looked back at the ruins of the ancient outpost as he forced one foot in front of the other. He led one camel by the reins: the animal’s packs were emptied and the contents left behind if his fellows needed supplies.
    His honor ached with every step away from his comrades as they faced whatever was behind. His sword should have been drawn with the other Romans as they entered the stone edifice, but Lucius was right that someone should return to tell what had been encountered here.
    Augustinus contemplated the sound of distant howling winds that interrupted the nights. The agitation of the natives. The trapped entrance of the ruins. The odd Anok Sabé and his cryptic rants of fears that lurked, and dead that walked below the sands. Whatever the truth of all of it, this had been the oddest series of events he had ever seen in his twenty-three years. Jupiter had surely turned a blind eye to this desert and its strange inhabitants.
    Almost four hours after he had left his comrades, he arrived at the abandoned Egyptian village. All was as it was left earlier in the day, so he began organizing his gear for the long journey. Augustinus had enough rations to wait for the resupply caravan, but he chose to trek back towards the Nile. Doubtful that in the vast sea of sand I will see the caravan, but they will realize