![]() “Ten men in the woods above us,” Blakely answered. Hank stepped out and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. Hopefully, someday he could live up to their expectations. Hank found their nervous chatter amusing a true dictator had absolute power and no opposition. ![]() Hushed voices murmured not of a redeemer, but of a ruthless dictator. But in smaller backroom circles, he was quietly referred to as the Blood Hand. ![]() He was hailed among his people as a visionary leader, a savior. His creed was “Justice over mercy,” and that, combined with his quick rise to power in the Nephilim underworld during the last few years, had earned him the nicknames the Fist of Justice, Iron Fist, and most famously, the Black Hand. Hank, too, was uncommonly tall with blond hair, snapping blue eyes, and charismatic good looks. He was followed by a second Nephil named Hank Mill ar. He stood tall with graying hair and a hard, rectangular face-nearly thirty in human years, though markedly older by Nephilim count. Even the moon, a slender waxing crescent, resembled a drooping eyelid.īefore the road dust settled, the driver leaped out, promptly opening the two rear car doors.īlakely exited first. A strange summer fog hung thin and dreary, like a string of rising ghosts. The hour burned past midnight, and the grounds were officially closed. ![]() THE SLEEK BLACK AUDI ROLLED TO A STOP IN THE parking lot overlooking the cemetery, but none of the three men inside had any intention of paying respects to the dead. ![]()
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