Tied to the top of the scaffolding were at least ten humans. Gagged and with their hands tied behind their backs, they were bound to the metal structure, trapped as it wobbled precariously in response to the hits it was absorbing from below.
Killing humans was the aim and prize of the game. The team that managed to take out enough of its opponents to make it to the top and savage the humans won. And somewhere in all that, some sick bastard kept score.
My gifts allowed me to differentiate between exiles of light and dark and this helped to give me a more complete view of the organised mayhem below. Most of the exiles were dressed in fight wear but the styles spanned different eras. Exiles tended to get stuck in the fashion of the time at which they first became human, so while there was typical street wear, there were also army fatigues, Roman-style weapons, ninja get-ups and, of course, for those who insisted on rising above their peers to the end, perfectly pressed suits.
As empirically beautiful as each and every one of these exiles was, this was not some fight scene in a Hollywood movie and there was no sparring. It was a show of extreme violence as they launched no-holds-barred attacks on one another, knowing with complete certainty that every fight would be to the death.
We watched in silence as an exile of dark ripped the heart from an exile of light and those surrounding sneered and hissed with their own hunger for blood. Almost instantly, another exile of light had his heart torn free – and then any semblance of order evaporated as the remaining exiles of light began to randomly attack exiles of dark.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Gray mumbled, taking in the mayhem.
‘On the upside, at least it’s keeping their focus off that lot,’ Carter said, pointing to the group of Grigori moving in on them from the far wall.
‘This isn’t going to end well, Gray,’ I said under my breath. We were outnumbered and out-crazied. ‘I’m going down there,’ I said.
‘Gray,’ Carter hissed.
Gray looked over the carnage below, the humans waiting to be slaughtered on the scaffolding above and then to the young inexperienced Grigori preparing to throw themselves into the fray, before turning back to us. He knew that Carter was worried we’d lose our bounty if I was caught taking matters into my own hands. We’d been ordered to stay on the upper level. But it didn’t take Gray long to see how this would play out if I didn’t do something.
‘Since when did she listen to any of us?’ he responded with a shrug.
I flashed Carter a tight-lipped smile, quickly climbed over the railing and jumped the ten metres to the ground, hoping I wouldn’t be seen by either the exiles or the other Grigori.
I landed hard on the concrete, jarring my knee, but moved quickly. Two exiles spotted me and came straight at me, their eyes alight.
I threw my blade at one and was in the air, somersaulting over the second and landing behind him with enough time to grab his head and snap his neck before he could turn away. I picked up my dagger from where the first exile had now vanished, spun and drove the blade through the other temporarily stunned exile, before dashing into the shadows. Catching my breath, I crouched and waited for the next exile to come close enough for me to deliver another silent, efficient attack.
In a battle zone, exiles forfeited their choices, and I took out five more the same way before the other Grigori even made it onto the far side of the basement level. I’d helped reduce the numbers a little but there was still work to be done. Turk, Milo and Gray leaped down from the upper level, the same way I’d done and I watched, my heart pounding, as each immediately engaged with their nearest exile.
Gray was an impressive fighter – fierce and unforgiving, the type who didn’t hesitate or slow for a second until the job was done. His style reminded me of … others. Turk was all brawn. He hit hard and got big results, whereas Milo was sneaky. He’d bring them in, bounce all around the place and then, in a flash, his blade would be in their neck; they never saw it coming.
Once they’d cleared the way, I waved them over to my dark corner.
‘Having all the fun, I see,’ Milo said, looking out at the rapidly increasing mayhem. ‘What’s that you got, five?’ he asked.
‘Seven,’ I corrected, keeping my eye on the exiles. The London Grigori were now in full swing and the exiles’ attention was broken between fighting each other and engaging with Grigori, effectively helping us gain the upper hand. I breathed steadily, moving further into the corner to get my bearings as I felt a familiar cold sweat run down the back of my neck. My eyes scanned the space anxiously. Something was wrong.
Gray settled beside me, also taking in the scene. My line of sight finally settled on the scaffolding hanging a couple of storeys above us. Clive and Annette were fighting two exiles. I watched the senior Grigori gain the upper hand, and my shoulders relaxed when I saw their blades, first hers then his, take down the exiles in a flash of colourful Grigori mist. Clive stood behind Annette, both of them looking out over the fight below to see where they were most needed next.