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“I am not surprised, for he has been busy doing jobs for an unknown enemy.” I frowned at this, wondering just who else I would need to add to the fucking list.
“Unknown?”
“From what I have gathered, there is something bigger at play here and someone in the shadows pulling on the strings. But the rumor is that he needs all eleven Sirens for whatever he has planned, and is currently working as head of an underground organization that employs a startling amount of…”
“Mercenaries,” I guessed, interrupting him.
“Yes, and not just mortals, but that of our own kind as well and from what my sources say, it’s like a fucking cult. This group make the fucking Nazi’s look like kindergarteners and the Gestapo like Preschoolers.” I released a frustrated sigh, before inquiring further,
“And whoever he is, he is paying for this sorcerer to cast spells on them?”
“Exactly, now thanks to Zepar I finally have a name, as he has the asshole locked up and, well, despite the gregarious heads up, Zepar is not exactly eager to share in his vengeance… all things considered, I can’t say I blame him.”
I scoffed at this before wondering if there wasn’t more to it than just blood lust of a Demon and the pleasure to cause pain.
“No?”
“His Siren got hurt and he is out for blood. But like I said, his name did get passed to me… where are you now?” Oblivion asked, as if he knew it may hold deeper meaning.
“London, Ontario.”
“Now that is interesting,” he said, soon confirming my suspicions.
“Why?”
“Because this asshole just so happened to spend a lot of time there in the 1920’s.” I narrowed my gaze, before asking,
“What is his name?”
“Albert Fish.” As soon as he said the sick son of a bitch’s name, I reacted.
“Fuck!” I snarled.
“Ryker?” Oblivion rightly questioned my outburst, clearly not remembering news of who the media dubbed as…
The Gray Man.
“I know the fucker!” I growled, before explaining quickly, “I think I know where they are holding the auction.”
Because the only link I could make with London and Albert Fish, was the one place he had stalked decades ago.
“Then I will ask for the Gods to favor you in your killing and pray to Lucifer that you get there in time, Son of Greed.”
“Thank you, Wye.”
“Bonam fortunam, my friend,” he said, wishing me good luck in Latin before hanging up the call just as Wrath’s plane was coming into land. For I was pleased that at least now I was almost certain that I knew where I would find my Siren.
“Good news?” Van asked, making me nod and tell him,
“I fucking hope so,” I told him, minutes before the sight of Wrath and his men walking out of the plane was more than a welcomed one. His large, tattooed frame strode toward me with purpose, and he looked as menacing as he always did. What with his Viking hair-style and piercing dark green eyes promising murder, he looked only a few heartbeats away from being at the ready to swing an axe in battle.
“Greed,” he said, taking my hand and shaking it with the strength fitting for such a being.
“Wrath, I have news,” I said, wishing to put him out of this new brand of Hell we both found ourselves in.
“Thank fuck for that, tell us we have someone to kill, namely any fucker that looks like me,” Hel, his brother said, stepping up from behind him. I raised a brow at this, making Wrath add,
“It was how they got my Halo, a Manushya Rakshashu Demon. One who is possessing my brother’s image.” An image that could not be further from that of his brutal looking brother as Helmer, Hel for short, was usually seen wearing a full suit. Whereas Wrath preferred the comfort and practicality of jeans and a shirt. Hel had perfectly styled dark blonde hair cut short at the sides and longer on top, opposed to the razor shaved sides and twisted long hair that Wrath wore knotted at the back of his head.
