The Irish have a saying… A man’s mouth can break his nose. That saying doesn’t go far enough. A man’s words can fan the flames. A man’s words can end his life.
The four should have paid closer attention. The Devil had been sleeping inside the man standing before them. They woke him—and he awoke in a rage.
As they predicted, it wouldn’t be a fair fight.
They needed more men—and bigger pipes.
Tonight, the pipes wouldn’t help ’em.
Tonight, the pipes wouldn’t save ’em.
As they spread out and surrounded their victim, fear gripped the four worthless souls like a lethal vise. Something was off. They could see no fear in the stranger. Instead, they saw it in each other, their black eyes darting back and forth in a panic as if they’d just seen the dead. Maybe they had. Sometimes, if you dig a grave for others, you fall into it yourself. The wolves had failed to realize the wind was now blowing with the force of a hurricane, fanning the flames as the fire raged beyond control. A storm was approaching from the west, and there was no escaping the brunt of it. One by one, they were about to be struck by lightning.
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