Gør som tusindvis af andre bogelskere
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The Horseman had come to your apartment?' Adri nodded. 'What did it want?' 'My goddamn soul.' Tantrics. Necromancers. Exorcists. Talkers to the dead. Summoners of Demons. An ancient art. A select few. The only ones in the land allowed by law to inscribe upon themselves the magical tattoos of the profession. The city of Old Kolkata. Dark. Devastated. War-ravaged. Unforgiving. Adri Sen, a banished Tantric, wakes up one morning to find the Horseman, Death, sitting at the edge of his bed. The Apocalypse cometh. Wraiths whisper. Ancients bleed. Demons stalk. Fallen Angels rise. Assassins attack. Storytellers spin. In every legend, a small grain of truth. Run for your soul, Adri. Run.
Where is Adri?' 'Hiding, somewhere in the darkness.' 'I am Darkness!' Come forth, come hither. It is finally time. Fairy tales, and spit and blood and bone and venom. Promises of revenge, the smell of fear, the ever long hunt. And the stories. Oh, the old stories. The serpent and the Dragon. The tantric and the horseman. There was time, once. All the time in the world, for the world. Yet you still claw at illegitimate hope; the blade saint, the demigod, the hammer of numen, the paladins of light. Stop. Look. The skies are black, the rivers red. For the last time, the sun sets. The dark master rises. Gaze into his hypnotic coils, for it is here. The end of the beginning. The beginning of the end. Myths of Old brings the long running Tantric Trilogy to a well drawn close. Dark, dystopian fantasy at its very darkest.
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