Oleg Bubela Skachat V - Fb2

He rolled onto his back and looked up. The sky wasn't blue; it was a bruised gold, torn by three moons. Above him, a creature that looked like a cross between a pterodactyl and a stained-glass window soared toward a distant, floating citadel.

One moment he was diving into a muddy trench in the outskirts of Omsk; the next, he was face-down in violet grass that smelled like ozone and old parchment. His Kalashnikov was still clutched in his hands, but the weight felt different. The steel was shimmering with a faint, pulsing blue light. oleg bubela skachat v fb2

"Status report," he wheezed, habit overriding shock. But there was no radio chatter, only the rhythmic beating of heavy wings above. He rolled onto his back and looked up