"TROLLHUNTER!" Gunmar the black bellowed, looking at the wrecked square. "FACE YOUR DOOM!" The warriors thumped their spears, Angor Rot prepared his daggers.
There was just one problem.
No Trollhunter. Slowly the spear thumping stopped as the warriors started looking around in confusion.
"I could have sworn he was going to be here…" Gunmar muttered, then stomped to the center of the square.
There was a cell phone lying on the ground.
"Angor?"
"What?"
"Pick it up." Gunmar gestured to his hands. "I have had no luck with those infernal touchscreen devices."
"Mmmm…" There's a number and a note: Call us.
"Well, is the Trollhunter fearful of me—Is he—"
"It's for you," Angor said, and handed the phone to Gunmar. The warriors waited. The Assassin waited.
Gunmar spoke.
"WHERE IS THE TROLL—yes, I know you can hear me, but. Fine. I won't shout. Now where is the Trollhunter and his annoying witch friend?
"What?"
"That's intolerable! I have come forth, the Eternal Night is due—I have an entire army waiting for our fina—"
"Yes, I understand. No, of course you're right, we do have to set boundaries for our children, but still, this is a special—"
"No, I'm not telling you how to raise your child." Gunmar's great shoulders slumped. "Well, when they are available, could you tell them to call this phone so we can reschedule our final conflict?"
"Very well. No, Thank you. Goodbye."
"What is it?" Angor asked. "Are they fleeing in terror?"
"Jim Lake and Claire decided to have a 'we might be dead tomorrow' make out session. Their parents caught them and they're both grounded for a month." Gunmar kicked a chunk of rock. "Let's go. If we're lucky, I'll get to kick Merlin's ass for not having the forethought to at least pick an 18-year-old for his champion."