Clink. Clink. Clink.
The Pennyman dropped a coin into the mouth of Diane and then went to the body of the next victim of Graham’s slaughter. Acmon stood nearby, watching his brother work, leaning against a tree over one of the few casualties from their uncle’s army.
Over a hundred bodies lay frozen in macabre positions, some missing heads or hands, others ripped apart by bullet fire. Luckily Graham had not sent any of his torch bearers with the group.
“I can help you you know,” Acmon offered for the second time.
“It is my job,” The Pennyman said, depositing another obol in another mouth.
“How many souls do you estimate he has left?” Acmon said, kicking at one of the few bodies that had not belonged to a Gargoyle.
“And what about our father?”
“What about him? Look around you right now.”
Acmon glanced about the gory scene before him, illuminated only by the moon. The houses around him were dark, the street lights as well. “Yeah, you’re right. This world suits him. What about our Grandfather?”
“Do you think he came back?”
The Pennyman moved aside a fallen body, revealing a frightened looking African American teenager huddled beneath.
“Please, please don’t kill me!” The teen said.
Acmon smiled. “I have no intention to. What is your name young man?”
“B-Benny,” he stammered.
“Well, Benny,” Acmon said, the smile still upon his face, “Let me help you.” Acmon held his hand out to the prone man.
Benny reached out and took Acmon’s hand.
The Pennyman ignored the bright flash of light that followed and went about his business, barely paying attention to what Acmon was telling Benny.
“What? What just happened?” Benny asked, blinking and rubbing his eyes.
“I’ve begun to tip the scales.” Still smiling.
Benny smiled too. “Thank you,” He said as he stretched.
The act looked to the Pennyman as if the teenager was trying on a new piece of clothing. “So brother, you have decided to fight after all.”
“My souls will be put to good use up here. Like I said before, these people have something, and they deserve a chance to keep it. Now, I must be off, I have work of my own to do.”
With that, Acmon walked forward and disappeared, leaving the Pennyman alone with his charges. He finished the last of them, retrieving his bag from where he had left it. He laughed at the thought of what Chaos would do to this world if he had chosen to come back. “No, if grandfather was here, this would be over.” He told no one in particular.
“Good luck brother.” He said to the wind and then took his three steps, appearing before Graham’s marching army. The marching soldiers parted around him, having long learned to ignore the Pennyman. The six horses pulled up short before him and stood there, pawing the ground.
“Nephew, to what do I owe this visit?” Graham asked, Hopping over the passenger door of the Mustang.
The Pennyman dropped his bag. “You wanted a war, uncle? Well good luck.”
Clink. Clink. Clink.