Page 146 of Dark Shadow of Guilt

Descending to the ground, his boots kicking up dust, Remi shouted, “What the fuck are you up to? Where ya going?”

“The screams,” said one. Another shook his head. “No. It was loud, screeching music.” “Both of you are wrong. The OC yelled for me to run.” A fourth said, “Drums pounded in my head. They were so amped up my brains rattled. I took off to escape the noise.”

“What do you hear now?” asked Remi.

They all shook their heads. “Nothing,” mumbled a couple.

Remi blew out an exasperated breath. He’d faced down rioting Scourges before, but their reasons had never been so bat-shit crazy.

“Then get your asses back to the mines. You’re wasting my time.”

Flying above the Valley of Doom, Remi spied a large gathering armed with knives, axes, and clubs.

He adjusted the long sword sheathed at his spine and tapped the hilts of the two blades jammed into his hip holsters. Strafing the ground, he shot bronze-daggered feathers from his wings, dropping a few Scourges but not extincting them.

In a voice that shook the land, Remi shouted, “Throw down your weapons and sit on your asses. If you don’t, the next shots will result in extinctions. Decide now.”

Lacking any leadership, the Scourges complied, looking as puzzled as Remi felt. Who’d gathered them? Who’d armed them?

What the fuck?

He floated to the valley floor, his sword drawn, his wings ready to release razor-edged feathers. But he got no lip and no resistance. The Scourges sat on their sixes, their weapons in a pile.

As he strode among them, he shouted, “War is Hell.”

When they stared at him, their eyes empty, he said, “Don’t you watch the movies? It’s a line fromFull Metal Jacket. Gotta see it. One of the best action flicks ever.”

A Scourge raised his hand.

“Yeah?”

“I seen it.”

“Good for you. Now, let me guess, guys and gals, something in your head made you do this, but how’d you get the weapons?”

The film buff said, “They were in a pile over there.” He pointed toward a tall shrub.

With no answers from the other Scourges, who seemed content to sit on their asses as ordered, Remi called for Angor’s henchmen to clean up the mess.

Tasks complete, he kicked into high gear, angling his wings to take him to the big city where he hooked up in a BDSM room with a lovely Scourge who enjoyed asphyxiation play.

She loosened up the kinks in his shoulders and elsewhere, but the relief didn’t last long. On his flight home, three of the OneCreator’s Immortal winged squadrons sped from behind dark clouds to surround him. Remi studied their faces. He recognized a few of the males. Their pose was aggressive. Odd since they were all on the same side.

Hovering, Remi touched the hilt of his sword. Better cautious than not. “Hi, fellas. Perfect timing. The Feard already settled shit.”

The biggest male spoke up, an insignia on his arm indicating he was a wing commander. “We’re not here for clean-up duty, assassin.”

“Yeah? What are you here for then? My boots are dirty. They could still handle a good spit polish.”

The big guy bristled, his feathers ruffling. “Wrong.”

The three squadrons of Immortals tightened the circle around him.

Remi drew his blade, yelling, “Well, gentlemen, when the shit hits the fan, some guys run, and some guys stay.”

Their eyes blanked.

“Doesn’t anybody watch movies?The Scent of a Woman? Al Pacino. I’m surrounded by cretins.” He curled his fingers, waving them. “Come get me if you can.”

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