Novels by Abdul Kareem Abdul lateef

​You have to kill the ground before the void creatures claim it, Elara shouted, her silver eyes locked on the horizon where the darkness was literally crawling over the bone dunes like a tidal wave of ink.​Lennon stood at the edge of his new garden, his boots digging into the rich, glowing soil he had spent the last day cultivating. The flowers he had planted, the shimmering crystalline blooms born from the memories of the fallen, were beginning to wilt. The air had turned foul, smelling of wet iron and rot, as the rift in the sky deepened.​What are you talking about? Lennon yelled back, his hand gripped tightly around the hilt of his sword. I just brought this place to life. You told me to make it grow. Now you want me to burn it?​Elara scrambled up the ridge to stand beside him, her robes fluttering in the freezing wind that preceded the void creatures. The garden is a magnet, Lennon. The Judge does not just want to prune the weeds. It wants the energy you have gathered here. Eve

Do not touch that soil, Elara commanded, her voice slicing through the heavy, stagnant air of the graveyard like a whip.​Lennon froze, his fingers inches from the gray, powdery dirt near the base of a massive, fossilized ribcage. He looked up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. The dust looked just like all the other dirt in this godforsaken place, but the way Elara was staring at it, one would think it was made of liquid fire.​Why? Lennon asked, pulling his hand back and dusting off his palms. It looks like everything else here. Just dead stuff waiting to blow away in the wind.​Elara stepped closer, the hem of her robe brushing against the ground without making a sound. That is exactly what they want you to think, she said, her eyes shifting to a brilliant, predatory silver. This is not dirt, Lennon. This is residue. It is the concentrated decay of a thousand years of broken dreams. If you touch it without the proper warding, it will start to eat your memories. You will forget

Get that stone away from the vault, Lennon roared, his voice amplified by the raw, surging energy of a thousand dead dragons echoing in his lungs.​The ground beneath the north ridge erupted, sending chunks of fossilized bone and frozen soil flying into the air like lethal shrapnel. Lennon did not wait for the dust to settle. He moved with a speed that blurred his edges, his boots barely skimming the surface of the permafrost as he charged directly at the hooded figures huddled around the makeshift containment device. The device was a nightmare of brass gears and pulsing red ley lines, feeding greedily off the faint, rhythmic glow emanating from the underground vault.​You are too late, Vale, the lead figure shouted, his face obscured by a mask of tarnished iron. The process has started. Once the resonance is broken, the hearts will wither into nothing but gray sand.​Lennon skidded to a halt, the silver claw in his hand humming with a high-pitched, angry vibration. He did not care ab

​Blood is a heavy price to pay for a secret, Lennon whispered as he watched the crimson droplets stain the pristine white bone floor of the heart chamber.​The room throbbed with a low, agonizing hum. Lennon’s hands were slick with his own vitality, the energy leaking from his palms like molten silver. He stood before the central pedestal, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with the cold fire of the dragon echoes he had recently claimed. Vaelen hovered in the corner, his translucent form flickering violently as if the very air in the chamber was rejecting his presence.​You are playing a dangerous game, Vaelen said, his voice strained and thin. You are binding your own lifeforce to these spirits. If they break, you break with them.​Lennon wiped his hands on his tunic, ignoring the sharp, stinging pain that pulsed through his veins. They will not break, he replied, his voice raspy. I will not let them. I felt the Judge out there, Vaelen. That thing does not just want to win. It wants

​Talk, or your final sound will be the snapping of your own neck, Lennon said, his voice as cold as the frost clinging to the ribcage towering above them.​The assassin hung in the air, his feet dangling inches above the swirling bone dust that Lennon had stirred up with a mere thought. The man’s face was a mask of terror, his eyes darting toward the shadows where Vaelen lurked, invisible but felt. The hunter struggled, but the invisible grip of the graveyard held him tight, pinning him against the massive fossilized spine of a long dead beast.​I was promised a simple cleanup job, the assassin choked out, his hands clawing at the air. They told me you were just a boy, an exile with no soul and no spine.​Lennon narrowed his eyes, the white light pulsing in his palms. Who promised you that? Was it the captain of the scouting party? Or did the council itself reach out into this wasteland to silence me?​The assassin let out a wet, rattling laugh. You think the council cares about an ex

Yield your weapon or yield your soul, the massive stone guardian boomed, his voice sounding like two mountains grinding together.​Lennon Vale did not yield. He stood his ground as the giant swung a hammer that looked like it had been forged from the heart of a fallen star. The air hissed as the weapon passed, missing Lennon by a fraction of an inch and cratering the solid bone floor beneath his feet. Lennon leaped back, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.​You are not listening, Vaelen warned from the safety of the shadows, though his voice was closer than usual. This is not a brawl in a tavern. This is a duel of echoes. Do not fight him with your arms. Fight him with the history that flows through those bones.​Lennon parried a downward strike, his silver claw singing as it collided with the guardian’s heavy metal plate. The impact vibrated through his entire skeletal structure, and for a second, he saw flashes of a forgotten war. He saw shields breaking and spears shattering.