Page 9 of Gray

Lazarus looked at him. “All of you are charged with protecting mankind. So protect it. Monsters are tearing humans apart all over the world. Contact Baxter and Sirena and command your army, Pride. Fight back. I’ll keep tabs on Belphegor and keep you updated on anything I learn.”

“Understood.”

The angel’s focus shifted to me. “You failed me once, Sloth. And that failure is now threatening life as we know it. Asa might seem to be in charge, but Belphegor is the one pulling the strings. He’s the mind behind all of this. If you would’ve had a spine and killed him when I ordered it, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

My eyes stung. I was too sensitive for my own good. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apology. I want you to make this right.”

“Lay off him,” Galen growled, fists clenched as he stepped forward.

“It’s okay.” I grabbed his arm to stop him from doing something stupid. “Lazarus is right. I… I failed. We’re paying the price for it now.”

“I failed too,” Castor said, lifting his eyes to the angel. “You killed my father because I couldn’t. So why didn’t you do the same to Belphegor? Is it because he would’ve kicked your ass?”

“Hold your tongue, Greed.”

“Just stating facts. You act all high-and-mighty when you couldn’t do any better—”

“Enough, Cas,” Alastair interjected, the command ringing in his tone. Castor flinched in response.

Pride was the first of the deadly sins—the sin all other sins were born from. Therefore, as the avatar of Pride, Alastair had total control over us. If he gave us a direct order, we physically couldn’t disobey him. He rarely gave those kinds of orders though. He didn’t like to do it.

“You’ve been given your orders. Don’t disappoint me.” Lazarus walked toward the door that led into Alastair’s garden, but he turned back to us before passing through it. “In case my meaning was unclear, war has officially begun.”

Chapter Two

Mason

Someone was out there. Waiting.

I stood at my post, gun in hand, and listened for signs of movement: the ruffle of grass, the creaking of a floorboard, the kick of dirt, or the crunching of rocks underfoot.

Kinkaid stood at my back. He shuffled his gun to the other side. Neither of us spoke. I knew we both felt it—the quiet in the air that was too unnatural.

We were stationed in a village roughly one kilometer east of the operating base in Afghanistan. Days were sweltering, and nights were cold—much like this one. The window in front of me was cracked and the floors beneath me uneven. The mud walls were cool to the touch and rough in texture.

Each breath came slow, though my heart thudded in my chest.

It seemed like a never-ending battle. Kill one and two more popped up. A new station. A new mission. But the same shit. If it wasn’t for the cold air in my lungs, I’d say we were in hell.

Tat-tat-tat.The gunfire rang out in the darkness, and I rolled to the side away from the now shattered window.

Kinkaid shouted orders to the other Marines in the house. Heavy footsteps sounded from the floor above me as they sprang into action. A man burst through the front door, letting his weapon sing as he aimed at us. There was no time to think. Only to act. Dust littered the air as bullets pelted the mud walls around me.

Bringing my gun up, I rapidly pulled the trigger. Encased all in black, he was a shadow. Unfortunately for him, I was the darkness.

More insurgents came through the back. Shots were fired all around, lighting up the place with flashes.

I charged my attacker. At such a close range, I brought my leg up and kicked him square in the chest. His gun flung out of his reach, and I kicked him again. He fell to the ground, and I swung my gun back around and finished the job.

Tat-tat.

The man stopped moving and stared up at me with lifeless eyes. Strange that everything was going on around me, and I still noticed the moment his eyes glazed over. And goddamn it, I triednotto notice it. But it would be something I’d never forget. Especially since the cloth around his face slipped, and I saw that he wasn’t a man at all… but a boy.

Yells sounded from the back of the house, and I ran that way.

Jones went down, grabbing at his neck. Blood pooled between his fingers. He had on protective gear, but the bullet had found the weak spot. His eyes were wide, and then he just stopped moving. With a roar, I fired my gun, taking out as many sons of bitches as I could.