"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
The wound pulsed with every movement, blood pouring hot and heavy down his side. His legs stumbled through puddles that soaked into his jeans, catching the shimmer of streetlamps above. It had started as a sprint, hours ago, when night first clutched the city, but now his run had devolved into a drunken, blood-slick stagger.
Hunched over, hands braced on his thighs, Tyler sucked in a ragged breath. Another. The pain clawed at his ribs like it wanted out. He forced himself to move again, but only managed a few pained steps before his knees buckled and sent him crashing shoulder-first into the glass of a boarded-up storefront.
He blinked, vision warping and doubling. His head lolled. The world rocked. His hands pressed against the wound, holding in more than just blood. His thoughts blurred, skidding somewhere between blackout drunk and fever dream. There was heat in his mouth, and a coppery taste.
"Just a little further."
The voice startled him until he realized it was his own.
A low groan slipped through clenched teeth. "Fuck."
He spat a mist of red and dragged himself forward, palm smearing a glossy streak of blood across the wall as he leaned on it like a crutch. At the corner, the wall ended and so did his strength. He dropped to one knee. A jolt of agony surged through his gut and threatened to rip him apart from the inside.
Then a sound. A splash behind him.
His heart bottomed out. He turned his head.
A silhouette stood at the alley's mouth. The streetlamps and moonlight behind it made it impossible to see its face. It didn't matter. Tyler knew what it was. He couldn't see the creature's eyes beneath the hood of its tattered jacket, but he could feel them.
It raised a hand from its pocket. The arm twisted mid-air, bones cracking and rearranging as it elongated into something grotesque and glistening. The claws glided along the alley wall, collecting a smear of Tyler's blood before lifting it toward its face.
Twin red lights blinked to life beneath the hood. A grin followed.
Fuck! fuckfuckfuck! "FUCK!"
The flickering light above a rusted old side door. Home, or the closest approximation to it, at least. With the urgency only death brings, his right hand shuffled in his pockets as he limped toward it, and his left hand kept his innards from spilling out onto the wet, mucky ground. His body landed against the door frame, and his hands, slick with blood and shaking from the loss of it, fumbled with it to fit into the lock. The key finally found the lock. Tyler slammed into the rusted door and burst through it, throwing his full weight against the frame as he pulled it shut behind him. Terror gave him strength, a second wind born of pure desperation.
A broken desk sat near the entrance. He tried to drag it in front of the door, but only managed to make his stomach scream and his vision go white. He gave up and stumbled deeper into the trash-strewn sanctuary he called home, slipping on the mouldy carpet and landing hard. His scream sank into the floor, fists clenched and shaking.
He crawled to the bedroom, slammed his shoulder on the frame, and let the weight fall from his back with a sharp clank. His eyes scanned wildly until they found it—the blinking green light of the mini-fridge.
He collapsed to his knees in front of the fridge. Relief washed over him, then vanished in an instant at the sound of splintering wood behind him. The front door shattered inward.
His fingers trembled as he yanked the fridge open, shoving aside the spoiled contents until he found what he was looking for, a bundle of foil, torn and greasy. The meat inside was already turning. The exposed edges were brown and slimy, the fat translucent and jellied.
He tore into it.
The cold, decaying flesh slithered down his throat. The taste was foul and fatty, metallic, sour, but as soon as he swallowed, the warmth bloomed. Like liquor in his chest. Like fire behind his eyes. His teeth cracked through bone, marrow flooding his tongue with a sweetness that made him shiver.
Then came the scything claws.
The Fiend's jagged arm cleaved through the mini-fridge, sparks erupting from the socket as the light inside died. Tyler flung himself sideways, the claws missing him by inches and driving straight through the drywall.
He scrambled up, instinct taking over. Another raking slash tore through the air, and he ducked beneath it, forcing his back to the wall. The Fiend entered calmly, its claw glowing faintly in the dark. Sparks still danced on the floor behind it.
Tyler could feel it. His wound knitting back together, flesh stretching back into place. The burning warmth from the meat surged into every nerve, burning away the cold sluggishness, the numbness of blood loss and nerve damage.
The two locked eyes.
The Fiend's gaze was lit from within, twin red rings burning beneath its hood. Its Profanity pulsed like a second heart, shimmering with oily light. The monstrous arm looked more like a tree trunk than flesh, thick and twisted, the claws coiling like the horns of some demonic beast.
Tyler inhaled through his nose, chewing marrow-soaked bone. The warmth pulsed again down his legs, up his spine. His injuries faded. His focus sharpened. He took another bite, this time tearing a whole finger loose and swallowing it raw.
The Fiend blinked, incredulous. "Are you serious?" A sharp laugh escaped him. "You're eating right now?"
Tyler looked up, jellied blood on his lips. "What? I get a last meal, don't I?"
The Fiend stepped closer, exasperated. "You want a cigarette too? A blindfold? Maybe a fucking phone call?"
"Go fuck yourself."
"Give it back, Punk."
Tyler grinned, red-mouthed. "Fuck. Your. Self."
The Fiend's claw curled into a thick, twitching fist. "You are fucking retarded."
That made Tyler smile wider. He bit down, cracking another shard of bone with a taunting crunch. The Fiend growled and lunged.
The claws came fast, hammering the floor, slashing up walls, shearing through metal and concrete. Tyler leapt, pressing himself to the ceiling. But the Fiend grabbed his leg mid-air, claws sinking deep, scraping bone.
Tyler screamed.
Then he was airborne, slamming against the wall, cracks fracturing like spider webs behind him. The Fiend hurled him again, and he smashed through the doorframe, skidding on the ground until he hit the far wall with a sickening thud.
"Fuck," he coughed, spitting blood and broken teeth.
A dog barked in the distance. Then another. Then more. Far away, but moving closer.
Tyler groaned, forcing himself upright. He cracked his back into place, every joint stiff with lingering pain. The Fiend stepped through the broken doorway like a man out for a stroll. Calm, confident, assured. Tyler steadied his breath. His mouth tasted like copper and rot. He swallowed it down.
He closed his eyes and focused. The warmth still flowed inside him. He gathered it, compressed it, until it pulsed like pressure in his spine. His vision flickered. Then it burst.
With a sickening snap, his Profanity surged forth.
A jagged wing exploded from his shoulder blade, crackling with heat. Its skeletal frame was blackened, the membranes between veins faintly glowing like stained glass wrapped in fire. Veins pulsed chaotically, stretching like lightning across the structure. The air bent around it, refusing to settle. Flames licked its edges, flickering, unstable. It twitched unnaturally, spasming like a moulting spider.
The room took on a red hue as the fluid filled his eyes, black ink filling his sclera, iris straining and focusing, soaking in every detail.
The Fiend struck fast, but Tyler was faster. He batted the monstrous claw aside with his wing, smashing it into the floor and carving a trench through tile and concrete.
Tyler retaliated, lashing out with a backhand slash. But the Fiend was already gone its limb tearing free at the shoulder, sloughing off like dead bark. Another one burst from its skin, smaller, but just as wicked. The twisted growth spread over its chest, wrapping veins across its neck and hooded head. A second arm followed, morphing into a thick, clawed cudgel of bone and horn.
Tyler's wing spasmed. He felt it crumple inward—bones snapping, veins tearing. He winced but thrashed it wildly, sending a rain of bloody splinters across the room.
The Fiend blocked the spray with a shield of flesh, its arm warping to catch the sharp barrage. It advanced, launching another flurry of claw strikes. Tyler raised the damaged wing like a shield, absorbing the impacts, blow after blow ringing out like steel on steel.
He tried to slip past, to break away. But the Fiend stayed on him, relentless.
They clashed, dancing through the shattered room, slamming into walls and doorframes. Tyler made a break for the hallway. A claw caught the edge of his wing, yanking it hard. The pain wasn't just physical—it was soul-deep. He screamed, his vision going white.
The Fiend twisted, trying to rip it free. Tyler turned with it, guiding the pain, then retaliated, slashing forward with the wing like a blade, using his hand to guide the strike.
The Fiend dodged. Another strike. Missed.
The third hit.
It wasn't deep, just a grazing slas,h but it finally found flesh. They locked eyes. Tyler's grin faltered.
Then the Fiend hit him back.
It wasn't just a strike, it was a hammering blow that knocked the air from his lungs. His back struck the wall with enough force to buckle it. The pain came late, but when it hit, it stole his breath a second time.
He gasped—and gagged.
"Fu-uck," Tyler coughed, each syllable ripped from his throat. The pressure in his back twisted him sideways, and that made it worse; his body tensed, clamping down on shattered ribs.
He writhed violently. The warmth inside him, his Profanity, receded. It slithered back into his body with a hiss, leaving deep gashes along the wall like claw marks from a beast trying to stay free.
It didn't matter.
He could feel it working inside him still. Piecing him back together, pumping fire into numb limbs, stretching healing flesh across broken bones. But it was slow. Too slow.
The Fiend stepped forward, hand outstretched, and gripped Tyler by the shirt.
He was lifted clean off the ground, his feet dangling. His fingers clawed weakly at the Fiend's wrist.
"I am being exceedingly patient with you, you little fuck," the Fiend hissed, and slammed Tyler's back against the wall again. And again.
Tyler groaned, his lungs filling with blood. He choked it back, refusing to give the Fiend the satisfaction of a scream.
"Give it back, you little shit. Where the fuck is it?"
The barking was louder now. Closer. Beyond that, footsteps fast and wet, splashing through alleys.
Tyler's lips curled into a weak grin. "F-fu-fuck your—"
A punch to the gut shut him up. The Fiend dropped him, and Tyler collapsed like wet laundry, crumpling to the floor.
He gasped for air, sucking it in as his head lolled back. His vision blurred, but he caught something. A scent. Familiar. Sharp.
He smiled, letting the blood dribble freely from his mouth. Finally.
The Fiend leaned in close, grabbing his mohawk and yanking his head up until their eyes locked.
"Hand it over," the Fiend snarled.
Tyler opened his mouth, but another punch cut him off.
"I swear to God, if you tell me to fuck myself one more time, you'll be choking on your own cock."
A soft laugh escaped Tyler's throat. It cracked halfway through into a wheeze.
The Fiend yanked his mohawk again, harder this time. "What's funny, bitch?"
Tyler didn't answer. He was looking past him.
A silhouette moved in the corner of his eye.
"Nothing, just..." Tyler wheezed, blood on his teeth. "It's not big enough to choke on."
The Fiend seemed confused at first, unsure what he had heard, then his confusion shifted to an uneasy amusement. The Fiend's grip loosened from around his mohawk, and he stood. A large figure hovered in the doorway.
"Can't take a thing seriously, can you? All one big joke, is it?" The Fiend's voice was filled with contempt.
"What else is it?" Tyler's smile faded, every word a struggle. "You're not gonna' kill me."
"You think so?" The Fiend's claw shot up suddenly, lifting him by his neck and sliding him further up the wall, plaster and drywall grinding into a fine mist. "What makes you say that?"
"W-well..." he struggled, twisted claws digging into his flesh, "For one, you're outnumbered."
The Fiend laughed, "By what, the fucking voices in your head?"
"And two, I'm a great distraction."
The Fiend's eyes narrowed, "What-?"
The balance of power shifted in an instant. Tyler hit the ground with a thud, along with the monstrous limb, gnarled claws still tight around his neck. The Fiend looked down at him and blinked, then his eyes shifted to his stump leaking profusely, then to the duo standing behind him. To his right lumbered a giant bull of a man, his Profanity wrapped around his arm flaring out at the shoulder in a twisted pauldron that extended down into a serrated blade with a black spine, veins greedily sucking in the blood dripping from the razor edge. A lean and wiry figure stood to his left, his Profanity writhing along his arm like a serpent made of shadow and bone. In stark contrast to one another, this manifestation was sleek and agile, its jagged edges flowing into a series of cruelly hooked talons. The shoulder flared outward in a smaller, spiked ridge that resembled fractured armour, its surface shimmering faintly with a venomous green sheen.
He turned around to face them, taking a step back. He raised his claw uneasily, shaking all the way, at first to fight, but as he looked between them, he grasped his stump instead, unable to speak.
"I'd like you to meet my brothers. The twig over there is Thomas," Tyler wrenched the gnarled fingers from around his neck and tossed the decaying Profanity at the Fiend's feet with a pained gasp. "The big bastard is Zachary." Tyler coughed, blood tickling down his chin, "Wh-where's Jake?"
Zachary stared at the Fiend grimly. "Outside," then his gaze shifted to Tyler. "Fucks' sake Tyler, don't say our names."
"Pot, meet kettle," quipped Thomas.
"Fuck." Zachary breathed.
Thomas shrugged, "Happens to the best of us."'
"Look-." The Fiend tried to interject.
"Doesn't matter anyway," Tyler mused, "H-he'll have a hard time remembering our names once his brains are coating every square inch of this fucking room." The Fiend looked at him nervously, and he shot him a devilish grin.
"Did anyone see your face?" Zachary asked.
"Don't think so," Tyler lied.
"Good, put this on." Zachary threw him a black balaclava, a white skull omen emblazoned on it. "And you, get out of here."
The Fiend looked at him and to Tyler, "Y-you're letting me go?" The Fiend stuttered, shifting warily towards the door.
"You're letting him go!?" Tyler yelled. He tried to get up, but that act alone made his head spin.
Zachary looked at him, "We're letting him go."
"Why the fuck would you do that!?" he hacked up a wet cough, "He just tried to!"
"That's enough. It's over." Zachary finished, eyes turning to the Fiend, "Go before whoever is on their way arrives."
"Right..." The Fiend looked between the brothers nervously as they cleared away from the exit; he hesitated at first, "Thanks," he muttered before disappearing through the shattered doorway; as soon as he was out of sight, their Profanities began retreating, slowly slithering back beneath their skin.
"Sorry about the arm!" Thomas offered as he left, receiving a look from the both of them.
Tyler slipped the mask on, every muscle screaming, "What the fuck, Zach?" Why didn't you kill him!?"
Before Zachary could answer, a voice cut in.
"There are rules."
Jake emerged through the threshold, smaller than the others, masked and clad in black. His voice was sharp.
"We can't just go killing every Fiend that looks at us the wrong way."
"He wasn't looking, Jake. He was trying to kill me!"
Thomas hoisted Tyler's arm over his shoulder. "Here we go..."
Jake pointed a finger as they moved. "Because you probably broke the fucking rules again! Why was he even here?"
Tyler groaned as they staggered toward the alley. "Because I stole a bunch of shit from him!"
Jake threw up his arms. "Of course you did! Why the fuck would you-"
"Because I wanted the stuff he had. Pay attention, Jake."
Thomas laughed out loud, and Tyler smiled through the pain.
Before Jake could snap back, Zachary stepped in. "What did you steal, Tyler? What was so important?"
Tyler's smile widened. "Let me get my bag, and I'll show you."
Thomas rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? Tyler, we seriously gotta get the fuck outta here."
"If I don't get my bag, that whole thing will have been a huge waste of time."
Zachary pinched the bridge of his nose. "Goddamn it... Fine. Where is it?"
"In the other room, over there," Tyler gestured vaguely as Thomas helped him into the alley, sirens and barking growing louder.
"So. What did ya' steal?" Thomas asked with a grin.
Tyler turned his head. "Oh, you'll love it, but I can't ruin the surprise." As they approached the end of the alleyway, he looked down both directions of the street, pleasantly deserted. "Where are we going?"
"Away from here. Unless you've got a special request." Thomas shifted his weight before rushing across the street as Jake surveyed their surroundings. Zachary was trailing not far behind them.
Jake quickened his pace, heading the pack, gaining momentum as they rushed into the opposite alleyway and scrambling up the fire escape, moving with ease that annoyed Tyler as he leaned heavily on Thomas. "Could you slow down?" Tyler grunted, his side flaring with pain.
"Good idea!" Jake called back before muttering something under his breath, his eyes scanned the rooftops ahead. "Come on."
Thomas adjusted Tyler's arm over his shoulder as they climbed. "You heard him. Try to pull your weight, Ty. Literally."
"Yeah, just let me stretch real quick," Tyler snapped, teeth gritted as he hauled himself onto the roof.
Zachary followed last, his steady presence a comfort compared to Jake's urgency. He quickly glanced back at the street below before pulling himself up.
"Three rooftops over," Jake said, pointing ahead. "Move fast."
Thomas groaned. "Easy for you to say. You're not hauling the deadweight."
"I'm right here..." Tyler grumbled, wincing with every step as Thomas helped him across the roof.
"Sticks and stones," Thomas replied with a smirk. "Maybe you'll be motivated to pick up the pace."
Tyler smiled, "Fuck off."
They moved quickly despite their exhaustion. The gravel crunched beneath their feet, the night wind tugged at their clothes, and the city stretched below them alive, distant, and indifferent. It felt like another world up here, separate from the pain and panic still echoing in Tyler's body.
Once the wail of sirens had faded into the background, they dropped back down to the streets, weaving through alleyways until they reached a park nestled beneath a quiet overpass.
Tyler recognized it instantly. He'd slept under this bridge more nights than he could count.
Thomas let him down gently onto a patch of worn grass, then sank beside him, out of breath. Jake leaned against the concrete, arms crossed, scanning the park. Zachary stood with his back to the wall, eyes on the shadows beyond.
Tyler tapped his brother's leg. "You got my bag, right?"
Zachary nodded, already reaching into his jacket. "First, here."
He tossed Tyler a plastic-wrapped bundle. It landed in his lap, heavy, fragrant. His mouth watered before he even opened it.
"Happy belated."
Tyler didn't waste a second. He tore into the plastic with his teeth and ripped out a greasy chunk of thigh meat, still warm.
"Fuck, you're the best," he groaned, devouring it savagely. "Haven't had a cooked meal in forever."
"Thank Mom. She made it for you... for your birthday."
"...Thanks." Tyler chewed and swallowed. "I thought you guys forgot."
Thomas shifted, his tone gentler. "When you didn't come home, she got worried, and, well..."
"She's a mess," Jake said.
Tyler looked away, swallowing down the lump forming behind his grin.
"Well... I'm not allowed to come home." His voice was quieter now.
The silence that followed was heavy.
"Pass me the bag," he said finally. "Might as well celebrate now, right?"
Zachary let the pack slide off his shoulder and tossed it across the grass.
"Easy!" Tyler yelped, catching it just before it could slam into the ground. "This shit's expensive."
"You stole it. It was free," Thomas said.
"Paid for in blood. Literally." Tyler balanced the slab of meat in his teeth as he unzipped the bag and slowly reached in for dramatic effect. Even Jake looked curious.
He pulled out a deep red bottle, the label foreign and elegant.
"Wine?" Zachary asked.
"Bloodwine!" Tyler declared, holding it up like a trophy.
Jake recoiled. "That...-"
"Must be worth hundreds," Thomas interrupted, digging deeper and pulling out another. "Thousands."
He passed one to Jake, who looked at him like he'd just handed him a ticking bomb.
"You risked our lives for this!?" Jake snapped.
"I risked my life for this." Tyler popped the cork and took a swig. "You guys just tagged along. Now shut up and drink. You owe me for missing my birthday."
"We tried to see you," Zachary said, tone hard to read. "We came by that shit hole. You weren't there."
"It was my birthday. I was at a bar, trying to get laid."
Thomas laughed. "Classy. Bring a girl back to an abandoned slum. You really know how to set the mood."
Tyler bit down on a marrow-filled bone like it was a crawfish. "I was going to bring her to a hotel, thank you."
"What was the lucky lady's name?" Thomas grinned.
"Dunno. Never found her."
Zachary frowned. "Fraternization's forbidden."
Tyler snorted. "You sound like Dad."
"Dad doesn't make the rules. The Baron does," Jake muttered.
"Fraternization's just fine if you're a woman and you eat the guy afterward," Thomas said with mock indignation. "Where's the justice?"
"Man can't live on meat alone," Tyler replied, dangling the thigh bone in his hand. "You gotta enjoy the finer things now and then. Pavlov's hierarchy of needs, y'know?"
"Maslow's," Jake muttered.
Tyler grinned, juice dripping down his chin. "Exactly."
"I wasn't agreeing with you. I was correcting you."
"Same thing."
Jake's expression soured. "In what world?"
"Both of you shut the fuck up," Zachary said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"He's too easy," Tyler said with a mouthful of fat.
"Blow me..." Jake growled.
"Enough," Zachary barked. They all turned as he pulled a bottle from the bag and inspected it. "One drink. Then we're heading back. Got it?"
"Deal." Tyler raised his bottle. "One drink."
The metallic clink of bottles echoed beneath the bridge until the faint hints of dawn bled into the night sky.
Jake groaned, leaning against a crumbling wall, one hand on his stomach. "This is poison," he muttered, then staggered off into the shadows. A moment later, retching sounds followed.
"Lightweight," Thomas said with a grin, crouching by a small pile of twigs. He struck a dead lighter again and again. "Come on..."
"That's not how you make a fire," Zachary muttered.
"It's how I'm making a fire," Thomas replied, shaking the lighter like it owed him something. "You got a better idea?"
Zachary waved him off and turned his attention to Tyler, who was leaned back with a half-empty bottle dangling from his hand. "Remember the last time we all got hammered like this?"
Tyler chuckled, though it came out hollow. "Yeah. A few days after the last time I got kicked out. That Fiend, what's-his-name..."
"Troy," Thomas offered, still fiddling with the lighter, still failing to light soaked through twigs.
"Right. Troy. Tom and I ransacked his place after the 'Inq's' dusted him. Took as many bottles as we could carry. Even meat. Could've eaten for a year if we hadn't filled half the bag with wine."
"You two showed up already drunk," Zachary said, cracking a rare smile. "We had to drink with you just to shut you up. You're lucky Dad was at work."
Tyler's eyes lit with the memory. "We ended up in that park by the school. Broke the swing set. Don't even remember how."
"And left broken glass all over the sandpit," Thomas added, finally giving up and tossing the lighter into the bushes. "Good times."
Jake groaned again somewhere behind them.
"So." Zachary's smile faded. He looked down, then back at Tyler. "When are you coming home?"
Tyler stiffened. The question sat in the air for a beat too long.
"I don't know," he said finally, voice low. "Still got some stuff to figure out."
"You've had time," Zachary said.
Tyler took another drink. "Some things take longer."
Zachary watched him closely. Tyler avoided his gaze, staring up at the sky through the gaps in the overpass. The stars were faint, drowned out by the city's glow. But he stared anyway, as if hoping to find something.
"Look, man..." Zachary started, his voice dropping. "One of these days, we're gonna find you floating by the docks. Or I'll be the one piecing you back together, so we've got something to bury. Or Mom's gonna see your face on the news, next to a headline that says, 'Some idiot Fiend with a neglectful mother tried to rob a senator and got shot six hundred fucking times in the face.'"
He was smiling, but his eyes weren't.
"You're nineteen, Ty. Keep going like this, you won't see twenty. I say you've had fun with your teenage rebel phase. It's time to come home."
Tyler took another swig and let the warmth settle in his chest. "I say I've got a little more fuel in the tank."
"I'm nineteen," Tyler said, waving the bottle lazily. "My teenage rebel phase has at least one year left. Then who knows, maybe I'll invent a new one. Young adult rebel phase. No rules."
"That's just called being a homeless loser," Thomas slurred, giving Zachary's shoulder a lazy shake. "Which, for the record, is what you are right now. Zach's just too polite to say it."
Zachary grabbed the bottle from Tyler and took a swig, then handed it back. "Mom misses you. We all do. We want you to come home."
Tyler's smile faded. "What about Dad?"
Thomas laughed bitterly. "Since when have you given a single fuck about what Dad thinks?"
Tyler considered that, then gave a half-smirk. "True."
Thomas yawned and scratched the back of his head. "Hell, coming back now might piss him off even more than you staying out here raising hell. He's finally gotten used to the peace and quiet."
That piqued something in Tyler. "You think so, huh?"
Zachary met Thomas's eyes, then looked back at Tyler. "Wanna find out?"
Yeah, I do. The thought came quick and sharp, wedging itself deep.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
It won't be that easy. It never is.
His eyes dropped to his feet. His jeans were torn and stained, his shirt soaked with old blood. His jacket, once black, was crusted brown across the shoulders.
I'll have to beg. Say I was wrong. Say I'm sorry.
Am I sorry? Am I wrong?
He didn't know the answer to that.
He was cold. In pain. Tired. He played it out in his mind, a dozen ways. Each version worse than the last. Each ending with him small and humiliated.
I want to go home.
But I don't want to lose.
Is this winning?
The question lingered and made him thirsty.
"I...-"
The sharp crunch of gravel under tires cut him off.
The sound of gravel popping beneath tires stole his attention, the brother's eyes focusing on a blacked-out van slowly descending the path. No lights within or without, tinted windows gleaming against the moon. They looked between each other and stood; Thomas went to see Jake, and Zachary took a wary step toward the vehicle.
"Did that fucker rat us out?" Tyler whispered.
"Which one? Lots of 'fuckers' that could've..." Zachary muttered back at him with a hint of venom.
"I told you we should have killed him." Tyler spat back, but the look in his brother's eye shut him up.
The van swerved, blocking the path, and came to a stop. The door slid open, and from the darkness, he emerged. A towering figure cloaked in a dark trench coat. The metallic sheen of his mask gleamed under his wide-brimmed hat, erasing any trace of humanity. His stance was calm and deliberate, a gloved hand gripping a heavy black Hilt. The Hilt activated, tendrils collapsing into themselves, writhing, suffering, wrapping around his hand and crawling up his arm, pulsating, feeding. It elongated and twisted into an abyssal scythe, painting a baleful silhouette. Every inch of him screamed of danger, his silence louder than any warning. Until he spoke.
"You must be Zachary. Zachary Stratton, correct?"