Wraith and Lucky burst out laughing.
Grim shook his head. “It’s like a fuckin’ daycare for adults around here sometimes.”
Patriot snorted. “Trust me. Marines are just as bad.”
I didn’t doubt it.
“Bandanas up, brothers,” Grim ordered and we lifted the skeleton printed material up over our faces to hide the true nature of our Reapers as long as possible.
The graveyard was eerily quiet, covered in thick gray fog as it swirled below our feet and hovered around the gravestones. Moonlight was sparse and mostly concealed by the thick, dense clouds that filled the sky. Even the stars were muted by all the cloud cover.
We entered the cemetery and headed toward the rear of the immense lot. Salazar said Chamuco was hiding out in an old crypt. Talk about macabre. I thought we were dark and intense. This guy actually spent his free time bedding down with corpses. No wonder he chose the name Chamuco.
Reapers loved death and carnage. We lived for the moment when we could reap souls and send them to hell. Our favorite souls were the ones so corrupted, vile, and evil that Lucifer Morningstar himself wanted eternal payment for the deeds committed on Earth.
Chamuco was one of those special circumstances.
We only walked a few more steps when the click of several guns could be heard at once.
“Don’t move any closer.”
“Chamuco,” Grim announced, “We’re here to pay a long overdue visit.”
“I don’t care what you want, gringo.”
“You should. Your choices brought you here.”
“You killed my cousin!” he roared, stepping into the light.
Grim shrugged. “He was trying to rape and kill an ol’ lady. He deserved what he got.”
“You’re going to fucking die!” Chamuco screamed, lifting his gun and aiming right for Grim’s chest.
We already anticipated this and all of us were protected by our Reaper forms. We spread out, taking on each of the men that Chamuco had with him first. They weren’t any match for beings that could call their souls up from their physical bodies and slice them into neat little spiritual ribbons.
That was exactly what we did.
All of Chamuco’s men dropped their weapons at the same time and dropped to their knees. He began shouting in Spanish but they were no longer in control of their own movements. Ten souls stepped from their physical bodies and cowered in front of us.
“Ex?” Grim asked.
“My pleasure.” Ex cracked his knuckles. “I’m hungry.” With a mighty roar, he ripped the souls into pieces with sharp claws, letting them float in the air around us.
The men screamed and convulsed, their fear so real we could almost feel their pain and anguish. Patriot tilted his head back and let out a howl like a fuckin’ werewolf. Sometimes that pain fed his soul in ways that never touched the rest of us. The only other who fed was Hannibal.
Grim ticked his head to Han. “Go for it.”
Hannibal began to gather the chunks that were wreathed in dark shadow. Opening his mouth, his slurped in the parts and shoved them down. Sucking and crunching sounds could be heard at the same time Chamuco’s men cried and begged for mercy, screaming for release. The souls were literally consumed while still connected to their physical forms.
That kind of pain gave me chills. I wanted Chamuco to feel that agony before he died.
Rael and Mammoth watched with dark laughter. The rest of us stared as Chamuco dropped his gun and sank to his knees before Grim.
“Mercy, por favor,” he begged. “You are the real Chamuco. I am only the imposter.”
“Yes, you are,” Grim agreed. “You will pay for your crimes.”
Chamuco blubbered and cried like an infant squalling for dinner. He kept bending down and bowing, sending up prayers in Spanish. Nothing was going to save him now.