Blades met in a shower of sparks, the short silver dagger and the long white sword. Sasha backed away and lunged in again with all his strength. Seven-A redirected the blow and twisted aside. His movements were light and easy, as though Sasha’s blows were cotton balls. The white blade moved like an extension of his body, an intuitive piece of him. He struck, quick and fierce.

Sasha parried the blow, holding the dagger in both hands so he could bear the weight of the swing. The blade met his dagger, then bent around it, the previously stiff blade suddenly as flexible as a snake. It sliced a line along his forearm before retreating. Sasha snarled and darted in, scything at Seven-A’s ankles. Before he could reach, the white blade rushed up at him. He met it with a low slash, only for it to whip by his block and slash his thigh.

Flinching, Sasha threw himself away from the sword in a somersault. Mid-whirl, he scooped up the fallen dagger and came up with a dagger in each hand just as the white sword swooped at the top of his head. He caught the strike, daggers crossed. It whirled past his defenses and slit his forehead open, deep enough to cut flesh but not bone. Black liquid oozed down his forehead and stung in his eye. He blinked. A single black tear fell, tracing a line across the otherwise emotionless face.

Seven-A drew back his sword and slashed again, eyes wide, teeth bared in a ferocious grin. Sasha danced back. It was a losing maneuver. Seven-A’s sword gave him the reach advantage over Sasha’s daggers. The further Sasha retreated, the more the advantage grew. He desperately fended off the flexible blade, darting back again and again to avoid reprisal as he blocked. Though his expression remained impassive, the space between his eyebrows furrowed.

All at once, Sasha threw himself at Seven-A. The bone-white blade lodged in his ribs, and he caught it against his body with his arm. Seven-A wrenched it to the side in an attempt to slice through Sasha’s arm. The blade bit into exposed steel, but without a swing behind it, the flexibility worked against its strength. He couldn’t cut through.

Sparks flew from Sasha’s arm and rib as he rushed in, dagger glimmering by his hip, ready to strike. Seven-A yanked out his blade and jumped back, disengaging. Sasha’s thrust fell short. Space opened between them.

Immediately, Seven-A raised his blade to ward against a wild dash. None came. Sasha retreated a few steps, tightening his grip on his daggers, blue light beaming from narrowed eyes. Seven-A watched him, alert, sword raised. Sasha circled Seven-A slowly, one deliberate step after another. Keeping the sword between them, Seven-A turned with him. Silence. Bare feet stepped. Boots turned. Sasha’s daggers flickered, threatening a strike. His body tensed.

Steady, Seven-A waited. He cocked an eyebrow at Sasha, unbothered by the feint.

Another few steps. Relaxed, Sasha nonetheless regarded Seven-A like a hyena facing a corpse. Their eyes met, searching one another for a weakness. A moment’s hesitation, a single skipped breath, and the tension would burst.

Seven-A raised his sword. Sasha flashed his daggers. Another step. Another. Stretched taut between them, the air almost hummed.

All at once, Sasha burst at Seven-A.

“Jaes, have you found the damn bullets y—holy shit!”

Mid-lunge, Sasha froze. Perfectly synchronized, identical heads snapped around. Two sets of glowing blue eyes locked onto the white-suited man. He staggered back, startled. His gaze swung wildly through the room, resting on the bodies, the blood, the cracked window, the two children. His hand dipped into his coat and came up with a gun.

Sasha jumped. In the same instant, Seven-A charged. The bone-white blade swept through the man’s knees as a dagger slit his throat. The man crumpled, head tipped forward. Blood spewed down his chest and splashed over the carpet from his severed legs.

The light in Sasha’s eyes dimmed abruptly. He blinked and shook his head. Slowly, he turned his head and stared on the bloody dagger in his hand, then turned down the hallway, after Arelia.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Seven-A stood. He wiped his blade on the man’s shirt. “Enough distractions.”

There was no response.

Brows furrowed, Seven-A turned.

Sasha’s back vanished around the corner.

Fury burned up in Seven-A’s chest. Eyes burning brighter than ever, he charged after Sasha, howling, “Get back here!”

Without glancing back, Sasha sped up. He hurtled headlong down the hallway. I didn’t come here to fight Seven-A, I came here to kill Laredo. He’d forgotten momentarily, swept up in the moment, but there was no reason for him to fight Seven-A. There’s no guarantee I can beat Seven-A, let alone quickly enough to get there before Laredo makes a move. I can’t waste any more time here.

A man in a white suit startled at the sight of him and drew his gun. Sasha ducked around him and kept running.

“Grab him!” Seven-A shouted from behind.

The man hesitated, looking from the fleeing boy to the one charging at him. Dark hair. Dark clothes. Blue eyes. He frowned. “Two of him?”

“Shoot the one in harness!” Seven-A snapped.

Sasha glanced back. His eyes no longer burned blue, but they did sparkle mischievously. “Shoot the one not in harness!”

The gun wavered. The barrel dipped away from Sasha and settled on Seven-A, then back to Sasha. Brows furrowed, the man lowered it, too confused to fire.

Seven-A scowled. “Useless.”

As he passed, the white blade lashed out. The man crumpled, red blossoming down his chest.

Footsteps rushed up behind Sasha. Seven-A swung, sword cracking like a whip as it deformed and extended to twice its original length. Sasha ducked at the sound. The blade sliced through his hair where his neck had been moments before. A few black hairs drifted to the ground behind him. Ahead, the hallway branched. Sasha caught a breath. Which way?

Seven-A snapped his sword back and swung again. The blade slashed diagonally at Sasha’s core, impossible to duck.

At the last second, Sasha kicked off the wall and spun around another corner, choosing his direction blindly. Arelia knew this building, but he didn’t. Laredo was on the thirtieth floor, but without her to guide him, where on that floor was a mystery. He rushed by door after door. Through one, startled men looked up from a meeting table. In another, a man yawned and stretched, only jumping after he and Seven-A had already run past.

Ahead, two men wandered, chatting casually. They caught sight of the two boys and stared. One dropped low, arms out to catch them, and the other copied his friend a second later.

Sasha leapfrogged over the left man and kicked the man in the back as he passed over. The man staggered, off-balance, and stumbled toward Seven-A.

Seven-A slashed. The man gasped and hugged himself. Blood seeped into his suit along the diagonal, staining it pink, then red. Seven-A turned to the second man. Eyes wide, the other man shook his head and backed away, hands up. Seven harrumphed and shoved past him. Behind him, the man Seven-A had cut fell into two pieces, severed diagonally through his abdomen. He screamed, a horrible, pained sound that lingered in Sasha’s ears as the hall thickened with the scent of blood. Sasha’s expression flickered. He sped up.

Ahead, a set of gleaming stainless-steel double doors opened prominently into the middle of a hall. A placard beside them read Office. To either side, a burly man held a machine gun, eyes hidden behind shades, white suits impeccable.

Sasha raised his eyebrows. Could that be?

Sharp pain snapped across his shoulders. Black blood ran down his back. He grunted and ran faster. The men shouldered their guns. Sasha narrowed his eyes at them and raised his daggers.

“He’s mine,” Seven-A snarled. The men flinched and hesitantly lowered their guns. Seven-A’s sword keened through the air behind Sasha, so close it ached in his ears.

Sasha ducked. The blade whirred over his head and lashed into the wall. Seven-A flicked his wrist, and the blade scythed down at Sasha. At the last second, Sasha slid to the side. White blurred past his face as it bit down into his shoulder, in the space where his metal arm met flesh-tone, the space Three had gashed open days ago. Sasha sucked in a breath and dropped, instinctively protecting his injured arm. No! Not again!

Sensing weakness, Seven-A pushed deeper. Forgetting the daggers in his hands, Sasha grabbed the blade and fought back, but his arms were weak from pain. His silver arm almost gave out as Seven-A cut down. Black fluid ran down Sasha’s chest and metal arm, staining his shirt. His palms ached where the sword bit into them.

Sasha furrowed his brows. He caught his breath, tensed, then dropped and shoved the sword up all at once. With a wet, sucking sound, the blade emerged from his shoulder.

Icy cold pain surged down his chest. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. His vision flickered, darkening. Sasha gasped and clasped his shoulder against his body, barely holding onto his daggers. Off-balance, he stumbled into the wall.

“Hey, Four,” Seven-A shouted, half-laughing.

Sasha whirled around. Midair, fist drawn back, Seven-A grinned down at him. Sasha flinched, but too late. Seven-A crashed into his face fist-first.

His head snapped back. Stars burst in front of his eyes, and his vision darkened. He staggered backward. His shoulders hit the wall and braced him upright, sparking electric-white pain from his bad shoulder. He tensed, eyes screwed shut, breath caught. A thin, cold line pressed against his neck.

“Are you done?” Seven-A asked.