By Pittacus Lore
Quantity Nine—when John frees him from his cellphone within the strength of Xix, he's ferocious, reckless, and able to struggle again. yet being held captive alterations a person—even a Lorien. See what 9 was once like ahead of his catch, and browse approximately his dramatic get away from his aspect of view.
In i'm quantity 4: The misplaced records: Nine's Legacy: Nine's legacy, realize the tale in the back of 9. sooner than assembly John Smith, aka quantity 4, prior to being held prisoner, 9 used to be weeding out Mogadorians in Chicago along with his Cepan, Sandor. What occurred there might swap 9 perpetually. . . .
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Additional resources for Nine's Legacy (Lorien Legacies: The Lost Files, Book 2)
This maintains for days. After each consultation, the Mogs go back me to my phone, the place I shake uncontrollably until eventually the regimen starts off all over again. once they take Sandor’s palms off, i must shy away. on the subsequent consultation, the Mog hums tunelessly whereas he cuts away at Sandor. My Cêpan flits out and in of recognition. I stay up for him to make eye touch with me prior to i eventually communicate. “I’m sorry for everything,” I croak, my voice like gravel after months of disuse. The Mog spins to stand me, surprised. “What did you are saying? ” slightly capable of circulation, Sandor can deal with just a sophisticated shake of his head, as though to absolve me of the entire errors that led us the following. I don’t locate any peace in forgiveness, yet possibly Sandor does within the forgiving. Sandor closes his eyes. And whatever in me snaps. Mustering each piece of energy i've got, I hurl myself opposed to the strength box, ignoring the ache. There’s a buzz and a crackle after which the sound of a small explosion and that i locate myself sprawled at the flooring of the room, taking a look up on the Mogadorians, whose significant faces betray their surprise at what I’ve controlled to do. I’ve disabled the strength box. I’m via. i do know I simply have a moment to behave ahead of the component to shock wears off. I push via overwhelming dizziness and nausea and check out to take advantage of my telekinesis to wrest the dagger from the Mog’s hand, yet not anything occurs. the sector should have by some means zapped my Legacies. For now, I’ll need to depend on the a part of me that’s human. basic. The Mogs lunge for me, yet I’m prepared for them. I kick the 1st one within the abdominal, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying, and yank the opposite one’s ankles, pulling his legs out from lower than him. His head makes a noisy crack opposed to the ground and that i leap to my toes. They’re either knocked out, yet no longer for lengthy. I seize the dagger from the ground the place the Mogadorian from the van dropped it, and I’m considering which one to kill first while I listen a grunt from at the back of me. It’s Sandor. “No,” he mutters. I spin round to stand him. His eyes are open back, and it kind of feels like he’s utilizing each piece of power he has to talk. “Not them,” he says. “It won’t do any solid. there'll simply be extra. ” “Then what? ” I ask. My voice catches in my throat. This isn’t reasonable. It wasn’t the way it used to be alleged to be. “What may still I do? ” “You be aware of what you should do,” he says. “I can’t. I won’t. ” “You’ve continually recognized i might die for you. That i'd die for Lorien. ” I virtually argue with him, yet there’s now not time. The Mogs at the back of me are commencing to come to. i do know he’s correct. and that i understand what i have to do. I take the dagger and plunge it deep into Sandor’s center. My Cêpan is useless. I slightly recognize what’s taking place as they pull me off him and drag me again to my cellphone. They’re yelling at me—screaming quite, madder than I’ve ever noticeable them—but it’s like they’re talking one other language. i've got no thought what they’re announcing, and that i don’t care. It used to be mercy, what I did. The final little bit of mercy left in me. there'll be none left whilst i am getting my likelihood back. bankruptcy Twenty-three The Mogs depart me to rot in my telephone; the one touch is available in the shape of the occasional tray of slop less than my door.