The Revenge of Seven Read Online Free Pdf
Pittacus Lore
THE REVENGE OF SEVEN
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter v
Chapter half-dozen
Chapter 7
Affiliate viii
Affiliate 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter xiii
Chapter xiv
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Affiliate 18
Chapter xix
Chapter twenty
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Affiliate 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Affiliate 30
Follow Penguin
The Lorien Legacies by Pittacus Lore
NOVELS
I Am Number Iv
The Power of Half dozen
The Rise of Ix
The Fall of Five
The Revenge of Seven
NOVELLAS
I Am Number Iv: The Lost Files 1: Half dozen'due south Legacy
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files two: Nine's Legacy
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 3: The Fallen Legacies
I Am Number 4: The Lost Files 4: The Search For Sam
I Am Number 4: The Lost Files 5: The Final Days of Lorien
I Am Number 4: The Lost Files half-dozen: The Forgotten Ones
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 7: Five's Legacy
I Am Number Iv: The Lost Files viii: Render To Paradise
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 9: Five's Expose
NOVELLA COLLECTIONS
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: The Legacies
(Contains novellas one–3)
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: Cloak-and-dagger Histories
(Contains novellas iv–6)
I Am Number 4: The Lost Files: Hidden Enemy
(Contains novellas 7–9)
The events in this book are real.
Names and places have been changed to protect
the Loric, who remain in hiding.
Other civilizations do exist.
Some of them seek to destroy you lot.
1
The nightmare is over. When I open up my optics, in that location'due south zip but darkness.
I'thousand in a bed, that much I tin tell, and information technology's non my own. The mattress is enormous, somehow contoured perfectly to my trunk, and for a moment I wonder if my friends moved me to ane of the bigger beds in Nine's penthouse. I stretch my legs and arms out as far as they'll go and can't discover the edges. The sheet draped over me is more slippery than soft, almost like a piece of plastic, and it is radiating heat. Not only heat, I realize, merely also a steady vibration that soothes my sore muscles.
How long have I been asleep, and where the heck am I?
I try to remember what happened to me, but all I can recollect of is my last vision. It felt like I was in that nightmare for days. I can however smell the burned-rubber stench of Washington, D.C. Smog clouds lingered over the metropolis, a reminder of the battle fought at that place. Or the battle that will be fought in that location, if my vision actually comes true.
The visions. Are they part of a new Legacy? None of the others take Legacies that get out them traumatized in the morning. Are they prophecies? Threats sent past Setrákus Ra, like the dreams John and Viii used to have? Are they warnings?
Whatsoever they are, I wish they'd terminate happening.
I have a few deep breaths to make clean the smell of Washington out of my nostrils, even though I know it's all in my head. What's worse than the smell is that I can remember every piddling item, right downwards to the horrified look on John's face when he saw me on that stage with Setrákus Ra, condemning Six to death. He was trapped in the vision, too, but like I was. I was powerless up there, stuck between Setrákus Ra, self-appointed ruler of Earth, and …
Five. He's working for the Mogadorians! I have to warn the others. I sit bolt upright and my caput swims – likewise fast, as well soon – rust-colored blobs floating through my vision. I glimmer them abroad, my eyes feeling gummy, my mouth dry and throat sore.
This definitely isn't the penthouse.
My movement must trigger some nearby sensor, because the room'south lights slowly grow brighter. They come up on gradually, the room eventually bathed in a pale red glow. I look around for the source of the low-cal and notice information technology pulsing from veins interwoven through the chrome-paneled walls. A arctic goes through me at how precise the room looks, how severe, lacking any decoration at all. The oestrus from the coating increases, near as if it wants me to curl back up below it. I shove it abroad.
This is a Mogadorian place.
I crawl across the mammoth bed – it's bigger than an SUV, big enough for a ten-foot-tall Mogadorian dictator to comfortably relax in – until my bare anxiety dangle over the metallic floor. I'thou wearing a long gray nightgown embroidered with thorny black vines. I shudder, thinking about them putting me into this gown and leaving me here to rest. They could've just killed me, but instead they put me in pyjamas? In my vision, I was sitting alongside Setrákus Ra. He called me his heir. What does that fifty-fifty mean? Is that why I'm still alive?
Information technology doesn't matter. The simple fact is: I've been captured. I know this. Now what am I going to practice about it?
I figure the Mogs must have moved me to one of their bases. Except this room isn't like the horrific and tiny cells that 9 and Half dozen described from when they were captured. No, this must be the Mogadorians' twisted thought of hospitality. They're trying to take care of me.
Setrákus Ra wants me treated more than like a guest than a prisoner. Because, ane day, he wants me ruling next to him. Why, I still don't sympathize, but right now it's the only matter keeping me alive.
Oh no. If I'm here, what happened to the others in Chicago?
My hands offset to milk shake and tears sting my eyes. I take to leave of here. And I have to practice it alone.
I push downward the fright. I push downwards the lingering visions of a decimated Washington. I push down the worries about my friends. I push information technology all down. I need to be a blank slate, like I was when we outset fought Setrákus Ra in New Mexico, like I was during my training sessions with the others. Information technology's easiest for me to exist brave when I merely don't recollect about it. If I act on instinct, I can do this.
Run, I imagine Crayton saying. Run until they're too tired to hunt y'all.
I need something to fight them with. I look around the room for annihilation I can use equally a weapon. Next to the bed is a metallic nightstand, the only other furniture in the room. The Mogs left a glass of h2o in that location for me, which I'yard not dumb enough to drink even though I'm insanely thirsty. Adjacent to the glass, there's a dictionary-sized book with an oily, snaky-skin embrace. The ink on the comprehend looks singed, the words indented and rough around the edges, every bit if it were printed with acid for ink.
The title reads The Great Book of Mogadorian Progress, surprisingly in English. Under it are a serial of athwart boxes and hash marks that I assume is Mogadorian.
I pick up the book and open up it. Each page is divided in half, English on one side and Mogadorian on the other. I wonder if I'm supposed to read this thing.
I slam the book closed. The important thing is that it'southward heavy and I tin swing it. I won't be turning any Mogadorian guards into ash clouds, but it's improve than nix.
I climb down from the bed and walk over to what I think is the door. Information technology'southward a rectangular panel cut into the plated wall, but there aren't any knobs or buttons.
Equally I tiptoe closer, wondering how I'g going to open this affair, there'southward a mechanical whirring noise from inside the wall
. Information technology must exist on a motility sensor like the lights, considering the door hisses upwardly every bit soon as I'm close, disappearing into the ceiling.
I don't stop to wonder why I'one thousand not locked downwardly. Clutching the Mogadorian book, I step into a hallway that's just equally cold and metallic as my room.
'Ah,' says a woman'south voice. 'You lot're awake.'
Rather than guards, a Mogadorian woman perches on a stool exterior my room, obviously waiting for me. I'm non sure if I've ever seen a female Mog before, and definitely not one similar her. Centre-anile, with wrinkles forming in the pale peel around her eyes, the Mog looks surprisingly unthreatening in a high-necked, flooring-length wearing apparel, similar something 1 of the Sisters would wear dorsum at Santa Teresa. Her caput is shaved except for two long, black braids at the back of her skull, the rest of her scalp covered by an elaborate tattoo. Instead of beingness nasty and vicious, similar the Mogs I've fought before, this one is about elegant.
I stop brusque in forepart of her, not sure what to do.
The Mog glances at the book in my hands and smiles.
'And prepare to begin your studies, I see,' she says, getting upwardly. She's tall, slender and vaguely spiderlike. Standing before me, she dips into an elaborate bow. 'Mistress Ella, I shall be your teacher while –'
As soon as her caput comes low enough, I smack her across the confront with the book equally hard as I can.
She doesn't run across it coming, which I guess is strange because all the Mogs I've encountered have been ready to fight. This one lets out a short grunt and and then hits the flooring with a fluttering of fabric from her fancy dress.
I don't cease to see if I've knocked her out or if she's pulling a equalizer from some hidden compartment in that apparel. I run, choosing a direction at random and hurtling down the hallway as fast as I tin. The metal floor stings my bare anxiety and my muscles brainstorm to ache, simply I ignore all that. I have to get out of here.
Too bad these secret Mogadorian bases never have whatsoever get out signs.
I turn one corner and so another, sprinting through hallways that are pretty much identical. I go along expecting sirens to commencement blaring at present that I've escaped, just they never do. There aren't any heavy Mogadorian footfalls chasing later on me either.
Just when I'm starting to get winded and thinking about slowing down, a doorway opens on my correct and two Mogadorians step forward. They're more than similar the ones I'chiliad used to – burly, dressed in their blackness gainsay gear, beady eyes glaring at me. I dart around them, even though neither of them makes whatsoever attempt to grab me. In fact, I call back I hear one of them laughing.
What is going on here?
I can feel the two Mog soldiers watching me run, so I duck down the first hallway that I can. I'thou not sure if I've been going in circles or what. In that location isn't any sunlight or outside noises at all, nothing to bespeak that I might be getting closer to an get out. It doesn't seem like the Mogs even care what I do, like they know I've got no chance to become out of hither.
I slow downwards to catch my breath, cautiously inching downwardly this latest sterile hallway. I'thousand still clutching the book – my only weapon – and my hand is starting to cramp. I switch easily and press on.
Upwardly ahead, a wide archway opens with a hydraulic hiss; it's different from the other doors, wider, and there are strangely blinking lights on the other side.
Not blinking lights. Stars.
Every bit I walk under the archway, the metal-plated ceiling gives way to a drinking glass bubble, the room broad-open up, virtually similar a planetarium. Except real. At that place are various consoles and computers protruding from the floor – mayhap this is some kind of control room – but I ignore them, drawn instead to the dizzying view through the expansive window.
Darkness. Stars.
Earth.
Now I sympathize why the Mogadorians weren't chasing me. They know at that place'south nowhere for me to go.
I'm in space.
I get correct up to the drinking glass, pressing my easily against it. I tin feel the emptiness outside, the endless, ice-cold, airless space between me and that floating blueish orb in the distance.
'Glorious, isn't it?'
His booming voice is similar a bucket of cold water dumped on me. I spin around and press my back to the drinking glass, feeling like the void behind me might be preferable to facing him.
Setrákus Ra stands backside one of the command panels, watching me, a hint of a smile on his face. The first thing I notice is that he's not nearly as huge equally he was when nosotros fought him at Dulce Base. Still, Setrákus Ra is alpine and imposing, his wide physique clad in a stern blackness uniform, studded and decorated with an assortment of jagged Mogadorian medals. Three Loric pendants, the ones he took from the dead Garde, hang from around his neck, glowing a subdued cobalt.
'I see you've already taken upwardly my volume,' he says, gesturing to my dictionary-sized society. I didn't realize I was clutching information technology to my chest. 'Although non necessarily in the way I'd hoped. Fortunately, your Proctor wasn't badly injured …'
Suddenly, in my hands, the book begins to glow carmine, only like the piece of debris I picked up back at Dulce Base. I don't know exactly how I'm doing it, or even what I'thousand doing.
'Ah,' Setrákus Ra says, watching with a raised eyebrow. 'Very good.'
'Go to hell!' I scream, and fling the glowing book at him.
Before it'south fifty-fifty halfway to him, Setrákus Ra raises one huge mitt and the book stops in midair. I watch as the glow I'd infused it with slowly fades.
'Now, now,' he chides me. 'Plenty of that.'
'What practise yous want from me?' I shout, frustrated tears filling my eyes.
'Y'all already know that,' he replies. 'I showed you what'southward to come. Only as I once showed Pittacus Lore.'
Setrákus Ra hits a few buttons on the control panel in front of him and the ship begins to move. Gradually, the Earth, seeming both impossibly far and also similar information technology's and so close I could reach out and grab it, drifts across my view. We aren't moving towards it; we're turning in place.
'You are aboard the Anubis,' Setrákus Ra intones, a note of pride in his gravelly voice. 'The flagship of the Mogadorian fleet.'
When the ship completes its turn, I gasp. I reach out and printing my hand against the glass for support, knees suddenly weak.
Outside, in orbit effectually the Earth, is the Mogadorian armada. Hundreds of ships – most of them long and silvery, about the size of small airplanes, only like the ones the Garde have described fighting before. But among them are at least twenty enormous warships that dwarf the residual – looming and menacing, mounted cannons jutting off their athwart frames, aimed correct at the unsuspecting planet beneath.
'No,' I whisper. 'This can't be happening.'
Setrákus Ra walks towards me, and I'm too shocked past the hopeless sight before me to even move. Gently, he drapes his hand on my shoulder. I can feel the coldness of his pale fingers through my gown.
'The time has come up,' he says, gazing at the armada with me. 'The Keen Expansion has come to Globe at last. Nosotros will celebrate Mogadorian Progress together, granddaughter.'
ii
From the cracked second-flooring window of an abandoned textile manufacturing plant, I sentinel an old man in a ragged trench coat and filthy jeans crouch downwardly in the doorway of the boarded-upward building across the street. Once he's settled, the man pulls a chocolate-brown-bagged bottle from his coat and starts drinking. It's the middle of the afternoon – I'one thousand on watch – and he's the simply living soul I've seen in this abased part of Baltimore since we got here yesterday. It's a quiet, deserted identify, and notwithstanding it's still preferable to the version of Washington, D.C. I saw in Ella'south vision. For at present at least, it doesn't look like the Mogadorians accept pursued u.s. from Chicago.
Although, technically, they wouldn't have to. In that location's already a Mogadorian amidst us.
Behind me, Sarah stomps her foot. We're in what used to exist the foreman'due south function, dust everywhere, the floorboards bloated and mildewed. I turn around just in fourth dimension to see her frowning at the remains of a cockroach on the lesser
of her sneaker.
'Careful. You lot might go crashing right through the floor,' I tell her, only one-half joking.
'I guess information technology was as well much to ask for all your secret bases to be in penthouse apartments, huh?' Sarah asks, fixing me with a teasing grinning.
We slept in this old manufactory concluding night, our sleeping bags laid on the sunken floorboards. Both of us are filthy, it's been a couple of days since our terminal existent shower, and Sarah's blond pilus is caked with dirt. She's still cute to me. Without her at my side, I might've totally lost it after the attack in Chicago, where the Mogs kidnapped Ella and destroyed the penthouse.
I grimace at the thought, and Sarah's grinning immediately fades. I leave the window and walk over to her.
'This non knowing is killing me,' I say, shaking my head. 'I don't know what to do.'
Sarah touches my face, trying to console me. 'At to the lowest degree we know they won't hurt Ella. Not if what you saw in that vision is truthful.'
'Yep,' I snort. 'They'll just turn her into a brainwashed traitor, like …'
I trail off, thinking of the rest of our missing friends and the turncoat they traveled with. Nosotros still haven't heard annihilation from Half-dozen and the others, non that there's an easy manner for them to go far touch with us. All their Chests are here and, assuming they could even endeavour reaching u.s. past more traditional methods, they wouldn't accept the first clue how to observe us, seeing every bit we had to flee Chicago.
The only thing I know for sure is that I have a fresh scar on my leg, the quaternary of its kind. It doesn't injure anymore, but it feels like a weight. If the Garde had stayed apart, if we'd kept the Loric amuse intact, that fourth scar would've symbolized my death. Instead, 1 of my friends is expressionless in Florida, and I don't know how, or who, or what's happened to the rest of them.
I experience in my gut that 5 is still alive. I saw him in Ella'southward vision, continuing alongside Setrákus Ra, a traitor. He must have led the others into a trap, and now one of them won't exist coming back. Six, Marina, Viii, Nine – ane of them is gone.
Sarah wraps her hand effectually mine, massaging information technology, trying to ease some of the tension.
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