by The Eurostar, Grimm and T5
Uruguay:
Metahumans, thought Aurochs, looking at the men advancing in the dark tunnels. And maybe more than that. They were six men... and a ghost? One was a tall, dark, short-horned demon. A true demon or a man looking like that? wondered Aurochs. Then there was a gray-dressed monk, who left no footprints, a young man blessed with speed, an ugly short man, a seemingly normal young man, and a man with a skull on his face. And behind them was a ghost that nobody, except maybe the short one, seemed to notice.
They were talking, like they had been just reunited. On the ground, many of the creatures brought here from the hidden realm were slowly dissolving.
They look tough, thought the wizard. I must be careful... I don't want them to see me. The old mage retreated deeply into the darkness of a lateral tunnel.
Metahumans, how he hated them. Bearers of uncanny powers, of great, untapped power imbued on them by heritage. They did not have to study, to practise for years, to make pacts with the spirits from beyond. How he envied them. Power without a cost to pay. How unfair. That was, at least, what he thought.
Clearly they would be a great pain in the ass. He needed to be smart. One or two of those strange men seemed very smart, and the ghost, too.
Well, the first move seemed to be his own. He whispered some ancient words, called a name that on Earth had not been pronounced for a thousand years. Deeper in the cave, a gate opened out of the ground.
A roar. Heavy steps on the soil resonated through the network of tunnels. He had arrived, and his sons with him.
The wizard smiled and moved to a safer spot.
Elsewhere:
Clive Collins leaned back in his chair, gripping the sides of his head. He felt as if he would explode. How had he managed to resist? he thought to himself.
"Grimm should have been completely broken. I'll have Roberts' head for this!"
He leaned forward, slowly feeling along the desk for the intercom button. He pressed it. "Miss Wootenhoffer, get me some Aspirin, please."
"Yes, sir," came the slightly static muffled voice. "Incidentally, your wife is on line two, sir."
"Tell her... I'll see her at home."
Uruguay:
Beimoth the Fist and his spawn were appointed punishers of the third rank by the Lord Gwzoon. They were feared in the lesser ranks for their dedication and brutal strength. No one trifled with them. And yet here they were, transported to the mortal realm, in a dark, muddy tunnel. The suffering of the being who did this would be legendary, even in Hell.
The sons sniffed around and suddenly stopped.
"No... father. We may be wrong, but our noses are almost never wrong... but... but..."
"Yes! Speak up, son. Don't stutter around like an idiot. Tell me what your senses say," boomed the dark voice.
"As far as I can tell... Lord Kwaiziel has been or is here close by." He looked nervously up at his father, awaiting a punitive strike from his huge fists.
"Impossible! We killed him! Go forward... search and find the source of this deception."
The three sons ran forward into the tunnel, where the team suddenly came around a bend.