“He did what?” Omerlon demanded angrily.
Rage drove the Elohynn to his feet, which was an impressive task, considering how far overweight Omerlon had grown, over the years. On bad days, his wings could barely lift him into the sky, and he didn’t have the endurance to fly for long.
But no Elohynn ever walked.
That was why he had dedicated vehicles, customized to carry him around. That, and it was far easier to hide inside a closed vehicle than be out in the open where any goomba thug might take a shot at him. Or narc him to the cops.
This vehicle had been converted from a panel van, giving him three meter ceilings and a thick, brown shag rug. He used it to pace right now. They still had time before arrival at the next destination.
The Warreth stayed seated across the way cringed, but didn’t clam up.
“Reporters got a tip, boss,” Danzeekar replied. “Damabiath had been tied to a chair and his left wing had been stripped to the flesh. Not a single feather left. And he was dead.”
Omerlon hissed in rage. There was no greater insult anyone could give to an Elohynn. None. Anywhere. Bodies would pile up at the morgue over something like this. His Warreth captain agreed, from the set of his headcrest and the way his feathers all puffed out a little.
“And Maximus did it?” Omerlon snarled. “We have confirmation?”
“I got someone close to his inner circle, feeding us tidbits now and again,” Danzeekar replied. “Never much, but never wrong in the past. They know which way the wind is blowing, but can’t get out right now. Maximus is a wild card and nobody’s sure what he’ll do next.”
“If he wants a war, I’ll give him one,” Omerlon growled.
All his life, he had been an outsider kid. Too heavy compared to those sleek bastards at the aerie who made fun of him. Too short. Too ugly.
Always too something.
He didn’t know if he had been born broken and didn’t find out until later, or if the anger had just built up over enough years and twisted something inside him. Most people couldn’t kill someone without a lot of anguish up front, as well as afterwards.
Omerlon had gotten over that crap pretty quick. It had gotten him in with a series of ever-more-dangerous criminal gangs, until he ended up in charge of the biggest on Orgoth Vortai. An Elohynn ruling an underworld largely composed of Grace, but still the dregs of any society.
Omerlon stopped pacing and turned to face Danzeekar. They would be close to their destination and landing soon. He needed time to get himself together and look the part of the lord of the underworld, especially if he had to go to war with Maximus.
“Do we know where the bastard’s hiding?” Omerlon asked quietly, his voice honed down to a razor’s rusty edge.
“Negative on that, boss,” Danzeekar said. “I get my notes third-hand through delivery boys right now. Hasn’t been worth trying to push back up the chain yet, because we’re likely to blow our mole and it hasn’t been that important yet.”
“And it still isn’t,” Omerlon decided.
He flexed his head back and snapped a shudder through his wings to loosen them up. Had there been space in here, he would have run them out to points. He would probably need that level of intimidation shortly, especially with some of the people around here having second thoughts.
“Find me those two physicists that disappeared,” Omerlon ordered. “We’ll use them as bait to bring Maximus to us, and then crush that weasel.”
“You got it, boss,” Danzeekar nodded.
Outside, Omerlon felt the truck shift as it started its descent. The Mayor of Londra, the biggest city, needed to be reminded how little wiggle room he had if he wanted to stay out of jail, and keep his entire, corrupt family free with him.
Omerlon looked forward to venting some of his spleen on the bastard. Maximus wasn’t going to get away with killing his people.