The grundars turned away from Kid and hurried away from the car, howling as they raced toward the source of the light, leaving Treycore wondering what in the hell was happening.
Gunshots fired, and a sound like even more grundars filled the air.
Treycore dropped his sword and undid his seat belt. His body slammed against the hood of the van. He cursed before asking, “You okay, Kid?”
“Yeah, I’ll…be…fine,” Kid replied, hyperventilating. His flesh looked ghost-white in the glow that filled the van.
Treycore checked the back seat. “Aerysn?”
“I’m good.”
Treycore crawled out the broken window, then turned back. “Don’t come out until I say it’s clear.” He pushed to his feet, walked around the car cautiously.
A few yards away, the bright fluorescent floodlights—the ones that were illuminating the van and the street around it—were set up behind a chain-link fence that appeared to be attached to the hood of a semitruck tractor. The bodies of several grundars lay before the truck while one climbed the fencing and another went around it. A higherling with its wings outstretched flew toward the grundar on the fence. With a shotgun tucked under his arm and a sword in his opposite hand, he slashed his sword at the creature, severing its head before circling round the fencing and heading for the other, which climbed up the side of the truck, clearly targeting the driver. The immortal descended upon it, but the grundar reared back, reaching its claws out, and as the immortal pulled away, a fallen came flying from the back of the truck tractor and sliced his blade through the grundar’s throat.
“Fuck yeah,” the higherling who had killed the first grundar shouted as he flew in place. He wore a pair of jeans and no shirt, revealing a striking set of abs and a tattoo of a phoenix across one of his bulky pecs.
The Almighty would have cringed knowing that one of His creations had mutilated his body with ink like that, diffused the beauty He had engineered. Although, surely, this higherling had intended it as an affront to his creator.
“Lanzar, you should have totally had that one,” the fallen said as he forced his sword out of the creature’s neck and pulled it from the side of the truck tractor, letting the body fall onto the street.
“Shut your trap, Fyrow.”
Treycore searched around for more grundars, but it seemed they’d been slayed by the group of immortals.
The only problem was, who the fuck were they? Friends? Enemies?
At that point, who knew who the fuck’s side they were on, if they were even on anyone’s side, or if they were barbarians, willing to take from Treycore, Kid, and Aerysn whatever they could.
The immortals turned their attention to Treycore. They flew over the chain-link fencing that shielded the truck and landed a few yards in front of Treycore. Another higherling stepped out of the driver’s side of the truck. He flew over the fencing and landed in front of his friends, as though he was their protector.
“Well, well, well,” the driver chanted. A rather tall immortal with bulky muscles packed in the leather jacket he wore, he had a full, thick beard complemented by long locks of blond hair that fell past his shoulders. “Look who it is. The great and powerful Treycore. The most beautiful of all the angels.” He clapped his hands together.
“Boss, he’s still a sexy motherfucker,” Fyrow said. He was much leaner than his friends, with shorter hair. He wore a shirt with the sleeves torn off to reveal sleeve tats. He put his hands to his face, his mouth opening wide before saying to the driver who stood in front of him, “Oh my God. Yorro, you think he’ll sign autographs?”
He was clearly teasing. Mocking, even.
“I want a little more than an autograph,” Lanzar said, desire in his eyes. It was the sort of look Treycore had come to be very familiar with throughout the millennia. But just as soon, Lanzar’s eyes shifted to beside Treycore, and he sniffed. “Oh, hello there.”
Treycore turned to see Kid standing at his side. Kid gulped as he assessed the higherling staring him down.
“I thought I told you to stay in the van,” Treycore growled.
“It’s pretty cramped in there,” Treycore heard Aerysn say, but he didn’t turn around to see him, as he didn’t want to take his eyes off their potential new threat.
“You can relax, Treycore,” Yorro said. “We’re not going to do anything to you or your friends. Lanzar, Fyrow, you can put away your swords.”
“What if one of those dogs comes back?” Fyrow asked, his expression stern, like he wasn’t all that eager to part with his sword.
Yorro turned back to him. “Show some manners, kid.”
Fyrow sighed before he and Lanzar tucked their swords in the sheaths affixed to their belts. Their gesture gave Treycore some comfort, but not much. He needed answers. “Who are you guys, and what the hell are you doing out here in this town?”
“Surviving,” Yorro replied. “Same as everybody else. My name’s—”
“Yorro. Yeah, I gathered that much. And if your friend Lanzar keeps ogling my boyfriend, then I know exactly where I’m gonna stick this sword.” He glared at Lanzar, who pulled his gaze from Kid and turned a twisted expression to Treycore.
“No need to make Treycore’s partner uncomfortable,” Yorro said to his accomplice.
