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In the three hundred fifty-five years of his life, only one woman had fulfilled Shrazz more than a challenging brawl. Whether fleeting like a dance or enduring like a relationship, combat left wounds and scars: mementos of passion. Heartbreak came from loss and satisfaction only through victory. Despite the outcome, he fought without regret and with utmost sincerity.

Through bleary eyes he watched his opponent, a thin half-angel. Her extended translucent wings glowed faintly, like a distant rainbow. He took a deep breath, looked into her eyes and saw anxiety. A prismatic collage of half-breed blood streaked Shrazz's black sweaty skin: an artist covered with his work. She feared her blood would be the finishing touch for his latest masterpiece.

Shrazz's claws would easily rip through her brown gei to the chocolate skin beneath if he could catch her, but exhaustion weighed him down. He had to change her reservations into overconfidence: he feigned a stumble.

With a stride and a flap of her wings, she thrust her spear toward his heart. He twisted his aching body away, and the skia's spear point penetrated his side. Through the pain Shrazz smiled.

Panic filled her amber eyes.

Before she escaped his reach, he held her small frame fast, ripped one of her wings off and suckled its tendon. Salty blood mixed with the tang of Inner, the divine energy within all half-breeds, coated his tongue.

Her body trembled, and froth spilled from her mouth.

Revitalized, Shrazz removed the spear, plunged it through the half-angel's stomach and the metal arena floor beneath her.

The impaled skia wailed and Shrazz broke her neck with a stomp. Her death, like a kiss from a partner he had not seen for years, filled his heart with fluttering joy.

Cheers rose up from the glass club boxes high above the stands.

He drank from her remaining wing. Its feathers wavered into view. Their multi-colored phosphorescence dulled to grey as they withered and drifted from the tendon to the floor. He felt his spear wound itch and knew it was closing. Shrazz tossed the featherless wing aside.

Shrazz's body tingled with battle-ecstasy as he walked through the ring and surveyed the mess of body parts strewn across the floor and the stands of the coliseum: the 999 losers of the contest.

Human runners dressed in red robes met Shrazz with Inner infused drinks, Gatorade for half-breeds. He normally did not drink Inner if it wasn't in fresh blood, but he was tired. One offered him a shower. He refused. He wanted to wear his hard earned mantle a while longer.

They escorted him out of the arena and into a room decorated with red curtains trimmed with lacy white designs. At its center, stairs led to a wide, stone dais.

"The Duo will contact you shortly through the holographic dais," a woman said as the humans bowed and exited.

"Shrazz, we congratulate you. The mission is yours."

He recognized the female voice before he turned: one of The Falling Curtain's leaders, Duo Hera.

He lowered his head and knelt before the dais.

"My Lord. My Lady. Thank you for this opportunity," Shrazz huffed, and kept his gaze on the white tiled floor.

"Look upon us, Exous Elite. You have earned that right," Duo Rahm, Hera's brother said.

Shrazz hesitated at first and stood.

Duo Rahm looked like a three foot tall, wiry toddler. Two orange-red halos circled his bald head. Smooth yellow skin flowed freely between isles of black. Blue replaced his yellow as Shrazz watched. Shrazz saw five thin scars on his face, like someone had scraped him from his left temple to his right cheek. Rahm's pupils swirled like pools of magma and cooled to sea green as his thin lips parted into a grin.

Duo Hera had only a disembodied head with long opalescent hair. Two blue halos orbited it.

Her full black lips were curled upward in a smile, but it seemed like a façade, as if something troubled her. A white blindfold covered her eyes. Myriads of color shimmered into view beneath her and shaped into a diminutive translucent humanoid body. Bones formed within it and muscles atop it. Silver transparent skin shone like shards of glass in the light. Shrazz thought he saw long thin nails protrude from her small hands before the process reversed.

Though both of them resembled children, Shrazz feared them. He could not speak.

"Your awe matches ours, Exous Elite. We have always felt humbled by your performance," they said in unison.

"Thank you."

"Your employer waits ahead for an audience. Follow the stairs to the conference room above. We will meet formally after your mission is complete. Congratulations," Duo Hera said. Duo Rahm waved before the holographs fizzled and disappeared.

Shrazz hobbled up the stairs to a doorway and entered.

An elderly Caucasian man robed in what looked like crimson flower petals, sat on one side of a round table. It smelled of spring. Shrazz could not tell if the scent came from the tall lit candles surrounding them or from the man himself.

"Hello Shrazz," he said. His voice cracked and rasped: an abrasive noise drawn on ancient, exhausted vocal cords.

Shrazz saluted. The man pulled back his hood and bowed. Vines covered in yellow, orange and red blooms stretched from beneath his robes and held his long white hair in several buns.

"Come, sit. What do you know of evil, Shrazz? The darkest dark?"

Shrazz joined him at the table.

"Evil is a delicacy. Sometimes I believe it was created for me to devour and savor."

The old man laughed. "You are fearless."

"Or reckless sir. I am never sure." Shrazz laughed.

"What is the greatest evil you have known? Did you fear it?"

"Only when my partner was threatened."

"You had a partner?"

"Yes. Centuries ago. She and my childhood mentor helped me lose my colors and control my metabolism."

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"What evil threatened her? What was her name?"

"Riell. And the evil stemmed from a bishop. He killed many of our friends with dark magic, enslaved us and used our Inner to break through dimensional barriers. He wanted to dominate our kind."

"So tyranny and genocide were the evils?"

"I suppose so."

"Those evils placed my love in jeopardy. If I told you the brightest of lights, the most benevolent of virtues, shelters impenetrable dark, the heart of evil itself, what would you say?"

"Evil exists everywhere. Just as light and shadow," Shrazz said.

"I was a byproduct of that evil, a byproduct of God's mistakes."

"Who are you?" Shrazz asked.

"I am Satan."

Shrazz felt cold and stood to leave.

"You stink of negativity. Not even I could stomach it."

Satan's high melodic laugh rang throughout the room.

"I've never heard an exous use the words negativity and stink in the same sentence. You did not feel such aversion until you heard my name."

Shrazz bowed to him.

"It was a satisfying contest. Thanks. This meeting is over for me."

"What if I told you there was more to come? That this mission will sate your passion forever?" Satan asked.

"Fighting God is folly. Fighting by your side would be an even greater mistake. If the Duo knew your identity they would not have allowed you on these grounds. I would flee while you have the chance."

"The Duo are aware. They selected you for the mission before the contest's registration opened. This battle was for my benefit only, so I could test you and remove possible threats from the equation," Satan said.

"Other half-breeds you mean?" Shrazz asked.

"Yes. If other half-breeds learned of this liaison they would revolt. We killed hundreds of the most renowned half-breed officers from this organization and many others. They will be too preoccupied with mourning and officer elections to even consider foul play. Deadly contests are commonplace."

"A brilliant maneuver. Perhaps I will tell others of this and start my own revolt against your vendetta. You have told me too much."

"Shrazz. This is not a vendetta. This is about preservation, evolution and ascension. If we do not act, holocaust will find us again."

"God is seeking to eradicate us?" Shrazz asked.

"No. He is dying, Shrazz."

Shrazz sat.

"Dying?"

"Yes and conflict beyond your imagining will follow His passing. Together we will preserve our people, prevent their extinction. More than that, we will claim a stake in this world. No longer will we hide. Life will finally accept us. Then again it will not have a choice."

"Say I humor you. What is my part?" Shrazz asked.

"You are a unique exous, capable of rapid evolution under the right circumstances. This mission will provide those circumstances. You will become a greater divine, a being of creation and destruction."

"How?" Shrazz asked.

"As I said, God is dying. Our informant, an archangel known as Leoran, told me of God's last resort: an angel. He will send one in his defense. You will intercept him and sup his angelic energy. That will be the first step."

"I have never fought such a being. It will be my pleasure to accept this challenge," Shrazz said.

Satan smiled. "As it is my pleasure to provide it. But as I said it is only the first step. The path after will be arduous. You will need a partner."

"You have seen my prowess first hand. I do not require assistance."

"You were impressive indeed, but it will not be enough. You need a partner that knows your weaknesses and thus will protect you from them. Your foil, your superior."

"No half-breed exists." Shrazz laughed. "I almost lost this battle due to fatigue. That is all."

"I require this of you."

"Alright," Shrazz said.

"This will not be pleasant."

Vines snaked out of Satan's robe and up Shrazz's body. Flowers bloomed on their ends and long suckers extended and retracted from them. They positioned themselves over his ears and plunged into him. Blurred memories of Riell flashed through his head. One sharpened, and as it did agony consumed him.

***

Shrazz cherished every memory of Riell: when they met in London as children, when they matured together and recognized their need for one another in Paris, their first kiss, and the first time they made love. Nothing compared to becoming her enemy, to fighting her on the battlefield. Shrazz held that memory above all others.

Riell was beautiful in battle.

In 1765, rumors had reached England of monastic half-breeds in Tibet who could infuse humans with their spirit energy. The king's closest general hired Shrazz to apprehend those half-breeds for his own purposes. Shrazz found the general's desire to "tap into demonic magic" amusing. If the general fulfilled his ambition, he would more than likely kill himself and royals in his pursuit of power. Shrazz prayed every night for that kind of pandemonium. His life felt meaningless without war, and he was certain war would be meaningless without him.

Shrazz and his raiders used inter-dimensional tunnels to reach their destination. His soldiers complained the entire time they traversed the frigid, eternally dark passages. Shrazz hated human-sitting. Half-breed babies complained less.

They exited on the Tibetan Plateau sixty miles away from the target village. Mystical interference prevented them from getting any closer.

Shrazz did not want to stop for the night, but inter-dimensional travel and hiking in the high altitude had fatigued his humans.

Yells woke him at sunrise. Ten of his soldiers had been castrated and impaled on javelins outside their tents. His officers pleaded with him to heed the blatant warning, but Shrazz only smiled. Shrazz could not believe he had slept through such a scene. Excitement brought a glow to his eyes and heated his skin. He had not expected any resistance. His rising temperature set his clothes ablaze.

"They came in the night because they fear us during the day," Shrazz said. "We press on."

He laid a hand on one of the bodies, and it burst into flames.

"After I eat."

At sunset a few miles away from the village, his scouts informed him of an army in their path. Shrazz assumed the village had been warned, perhaps by skia scouts. He hadn't seen any of the half-angels, but their innate ability to become invisible, even to the heightened senses of half-breeds and demons could have been why. They made camp and did reconnaissance.

His scouts told him the army of villagers numbered one thousand: double the size of Shrazz's raiding party. They were armed with crude bows, swords, spears and animal skins that barely covered their pitch black, muscled bodies.

With muskets, forged armor and weapons, Shrazz believed his army had a decisive advantage. He ordered an attack. Shrazz knew the villagers could see the setting sun's reflection on their steel armaments and assumed they would flee, but to his surprise they charged with hearty battle cries.

A quarter of the villagers fired bows while the rest, armed with swords and spears, rushed in. Shrazz's army fired volley after volley at the defenders and wounded none of them.

He knew the skia were involved but could not find any trace of them. Shrazz ordered a full charge. Even if all of his men died he would survive. No number of humans or skia would prevent him from completing his mission.

Soon he noticed them or rather, the trail of carnage they left in their wake. One by one, his officers' flags fell. Human hands could not have been so efficient. He assumed the skia were camouflaged and attacking by air.

He looked for the nearest officer's banner and pushed past soldiers to reach it. He took the banner from his officer and waited. Skia swooped down on his position. Shrazz could smell their distinct energies as they closed in.

He punched into the air, caught one in the chest and killed her instantly. With the other hand, he unleashed a wave of fire and incinerated the others in the group. He caught sight of the last one: Riell.

He knew her from the way she looked in the air as she swooped through the air beneath camouflage: like wavering heat from a flame, enthralling and deadly. He pulled his sword from his sheath and assumed a defensive stance. Her sword went through his as if it were only air and shattered it.

He stepped sideways. Her sword pierced his shoulder instead of his heart. He grit his teeth, head-butted her, grabbed her sword arm and heated it. She hissed. Her camouflage wavered and he caught a glimpse of her green eyes and pale face before she faded from view again. She kept hold of her sword.

He immolated himself completely. Flames spurted from his armor, rapidly heating the metal. She screamed and flipped away. He pulled the red-hot sword from his body. His wound instantly cauterized.

Into the air she flew and loosed a barrage of arrows. He deflected them easily. She dropped her camouflage and stood a small distance away, obscured only by fighting soldiers.

Her tan robe and her long black hair flowed in the crisp mountain air. Shrazz could see millions of colors in her glowing wings. She threw her longbow to the ground.

He took his helmet off and ripped the melted breastplate from his flesh. The cold air refreshed his black, sweaty skin. His wounds itched as they closed up and healed.

She dashed for him and moved in and out of the clamor. He lost sight of her.

Her punch came from underneath and sent him airborne.

She kept hold of his sword arm, and twisted it. His momentum slung him around. He dropped her sword, bounced once on the ground and lay there half-conscious, taken aback by her ferocity.

She knew it was him. She had to have known it was him.

Her sword touched his throat in seconds.

Nausea overtook Shrazz when Satan removed his vines.

"She is the one."

"She will refuse... what did you do to me?"

"Convince her. Recruit Riell. My time grows short. Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes."

Shrazz stood to shake Satan's hand. His battle wounds reopened, and he stumbled to the ground. Satan's robe wilted. Hundreds of petals fell around Shrazz as he bled, alone.