by Kris Greene
“You know the shadows have no power over the dark elves,” Croft reminded his captors.
“Which is why I have a special death in mind for you,” Titus said. “Of all these fools I would’ve expected the dark elves to understand what I am offering.”
“What you seek to do will have repercussions that stretch beyond just the mortal world, Titus.” Croft struggled in the Valkrin’s grasp.
“What I seek to do is cleanse this world and remake it in my own image. I knew that there would be some who would resist, but I did not expect the Hand to be fools also. Luckily I came prepared to deal with even the likes of you.” Titus waved Riel forward. The demon stepped through the ground, with the great blade Poison hefted over his shoulder. “I’m afraid this is going to be quite painful.”
“You bastard, you’ve been planning this double-cross since you slunk into New York!” Croft spat.
Titus smiled. “Foolish elf, I’ve been planning this for four hundred years. Finish him,” he told Riel.
Riel swung the blade. Soundlessly Poison cut through the fabric of his clothing and left a thin scratch across Croft’s chest. The elf’s eyes went wide and he began to claw at his suit, tearing open his shirt. The flesh beneath was pink and oozing something akin to blood. Croft dropped to the floor and convulsed violently as the poison ravaged his system.
“Now for you.” Riel turned his blade on Rol.
“I ain’t going quietly!” Rol fired his gun, hitting Riel in the gut. The Valkrin tried to grab him, but he spun out of her reach and bounded over a chair. Moses whipped shadows after him, but the elf was already crashing through the picture window.
“Shall I go after him?” the Valkrin asked. Titus thought on it. “No, the die has been cast and there isn’t much that even the Black Hand can do about it at this point. Get these bodies downstairs to the tomb. A few more hosts and we’ll be ready.”
