Page 74 of Stroke of Shadows

“Careful,” a voice crackled, seeming to echo around them with no source. “He has a ravenous appetite.”

The hound pulled itself free from the broken concrete, shaking the dust and salt from its fur and scaled skin. Sythe continued to aim, arm not wavering, before Wyatt grabbed the barrel.

“You better be fucking sure,” he grunted, moving to point the gun at the floor.

Sythe eyed the hound, a class B which made it barely a pup. But even a pup could do some serious damage.

Smoke danced between its exposed ribs, the dark vapour not strong enough to heal like its higher classifications. But just like the others, its snout was long, the nose nothing but a gaping hole. The ears, on the other hand, were short and stumpy rather than canine, and a tail that was more bone than flesh. Fangs, long and razor sharp decorated both jaws, which opened with a threatening smile.

He’d be able to take it down without his arcane, but it would be a pain in his arse. Likely lose a finger or two.

Wyatt stood impatiently beside him. “I see you’ve come with theatrics as usual. What have I told you about bringing your fucking dog?”

Smoke swept up from the concrete, swirling like a mini tornado before a form stepped through.

“I thought you needed a little encouragement.”

It was the first time Sythe had met Bishop, Gideon’s right-hand man. Angular face, auburn hair and a large frame with black wings arching high above his shoulders. His horns were curled down by his eyes, the red irises moving to pin him to the spot.

“And who exactly are you?” he asked, stepping closer with a wave of superiority. He was dressed as if he were ready to fight, the leather material tight to his body and not too different from the Guardians own clothes. Except the leather wasn’t likely from anything found on earth.

Bishop’s hand stroked across the hound’s head, the creature following obediently.

Sythe had fought hundreds of the fuckers, and not once had he ever seen one so domesticated. Its oversized head shook from side to side, red eyeballs rolling freely inside hollow sockets. The sound as they thrashed against bone, reminded him of a sickening squelch.

Wyatt straightened his spine. “It’s about time Gideon makes good on your side of the bargain.”

The hound growled, the sound similar to a chainsaw before Bishop quietened it. His smile was small, gentle compared to his size. “You are yet to provide us with the chalice. Until then, you’ll receive nothing.”

“I’ve told you, I’ve been—”

“Months!” Bishop snarled, wings snapping out with anger. “Months you’ve been hunting the artefact for us, and you’ve given us nothing while we create you men worthy of a god.”

Wyatt clenched his fists, but remained calm. “I provided the men, they’re mine. I get an army, and you get the fucking cup. I have someone working on it.”

Bishop sneered, his cheekbones sharpening. “How can you assure me they’ll succeed when you failed?”

“Because it’s literally what she does.” Wyatt replicated Bishop’s tone perfectly. “She won’t fail. I’ve made sure of it.”

Bishop’s face seemed carved from stone, the hound grumbling beside him. With a carefully controlled smile, he nodded. “The last men you sent to me were worthless. They didn’t survive the transition and the others are dying far quicker than expected.”

“Then I’ll send more.”

Bishop’s attention snapped to the side, his irises seeming to glow darker when they met Sythe’s. “Not many men stand so calmly when they meet someone like me. Most stink of fear.”

Sythe gripped his pistol tighter. “I’ve seen scarier.”

Bishop laughed, the sound a great crackle. “I bet you have.”

Fur brushed gently beneath tight skin, just reminding Sythe that he wasn’t alone. That they could take him if needed. It would have been so much easier, but it made no sense to take out a pawn when you could go for the king. Even if it went against every single one of his instincts.

He needed Gideon, and Bishop was the way in.

Bishop cocked his head, his horns twisting as they disappeared into his hairline before his wings flexed, tucking neatly against his spine. For every passing minute, he looked more human. His features weren’t so pronounced. His eyes not so crimson.

With a smirk, he clicked his fingers, and two men appeared by his side. They were silent as they blinked, looking around the large concrete room with a frown. If they recognised the church, they didn’t acknowledge it.

They stood in similar leathers to Bishop, their bodies heavy with muscle. They looked strong, powerful, but Sythe could sense the sickness pouring from them. It was subtle in their appearance, just a slight shadowing beneath their eyes and the waxiness of their skin. Sythe was sure if he stretched out his chi he’d feel a dark presence, their auras corrupted by magic not meant for them.

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