Olivia swore as she pulled her blade-arm from the target’s heart.

This marked the second time she herself had killed him, the third time overall. The first being when Lars—who was now dead—had put a knife in the man’s skull.

She looked between his two corpses in disgust.

They hadn’t been told that he could clone himself, or that his immortality was the coming-back-to-life variety rather than the can’t-be-killed kind.

Both bodies seemed dead this time, but would they come back again?

“He is immortal,” Sanne said, the fire around her body winking out now that the target was dealt with for the moment.

Olivia motioned dismissively at the man’s two corpses. “He dies easy enough. It’s the coming back that’s the problem. And having a clone we weren’t warned about.”

“At least we know it’s not Osiris doing it,” Daan said.

“What do we do now?” Niels asked, looking around for signs of the man. “I mean, he can come back and duplicate himself? How do we know he can only make one clone? What if he can make more? How do we handle that?”

“He has a cooldown,” Bram said. “It takes him time to come back.” He pointed at the older of Sebastian’s bodies, the one wearing clothes. “That came back once, then Olivia killed it again, and it stayed dead.” He pointed at the body without clothes. “That hasn’t come back yet. Let’s try destroying it before he does. Maybe that stops him.”

“But we’re supposed to get his cards,” Ilse pointed out, no anime perkiness in her voice now as she looked over at Lars’s body, and the knife wound where his eye had been. She wiped at her own eyes, but the wetness there was not blood. “We only have the two he was carrying, not the ones in his deck.”

“His first body didn’t have a deck,” Sanne said. “Maybe because it was a clone. I’m too weak right now to tell if there’s one in his second body.”

“Can you still get them from his deck if the body is destroyed?” Ilse asked her.

“Forget his cards,” Olivia said. “The Scion should have gone after him himself if he wanted them so badly. Burn him,” she told Sanne.

“I just said I’m too weak to detect his deck. Burning him will use up what little power I have left.”

“Your power’s no good if we’re dead,” Bram told her. “Do it. Both of them.”

Sanne hesitated. She could stay and fight, and possibly die, or she could fly away from this whole mess. Immortal though this Sebastian may seem, she’d seen no indication that he could fly. And he certainly hadn’t been able to dodge Lars’s attack. Not that he’d needed to, it turned out.

Yes, she could get away.

But what would their Scion think?

It had been their boldness, their willingness to do what it took, that had gotten them their position as Vassals.

Was she willing to give that up?

More importantly, was she willing to risk her life to keep it?

Sanne made her decision.

She held out her hands, a shimmering heat haze flowing out from them and engulfing the supposed immortal’s bodies.

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

They ignited at once, quickly burning down to ash.

Sanne collapsed to her knees, the haze around her body diminishing to nothing more opaque than a dusty window.

She sucked in air, unable to get enough, her skin prickling with sweat.

The temperate, gentle breeze that blew over her was almost too much sensation to bear. She looked down at her body, her protective haze reduced to near invisibility, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Which wasn’t like her. She’d enjoyed her power, had felt free knowing she needed no weapons or armor, needed nothing but her own body.

But now, she wished her power was like Bram’s. She wished for a monstrous form to protect her, to hide her skin which, without the haze, was as weak and vulnerable as any solo’s.

Ilse took her by the arm and helped her to her feet, then took off her cape for Sanne to wrap around herself.

Sanne gave her a brief nod of gratitude.

Ilse had always been the most perceptive of their group, the most sensitive. It was something Sanne had always simultaneously looked down on, and been envious of. The ease with which she seemed to care.

“You think that did it?” Niels asked, still looking around for their opponent, his motorcycle gear squeaking with every erratic movement.

Sanne shook her head. “Can’t tell. I’m too weak to sense anything.” She didn’t like admitting it, didn’t like it being true, but it was. And she wasn’t going to hide it. She’d never hid her emotions—or anything else—before, and wasn’t about to start now.

“He’s probably waiting for the perfect moment,” Daan said uneasily.

They had killed the man three times now, and both times he’d come back he’d attacked in a different manner, once coming back to life to stab Lars in the eye with his own knife, once apparently cloning himself and charging into them, nearly taking out Niels with the very same knife.

Who knew what other tricks he had up his sleeve.

“Maybe he’s used up all his lives,” Niels said.

“We can’t assume that,” Bram said. “If the card is so powerful that a Scion wants it, it won’t be limited use.”

“Should we leave while we can?” Ilse asked. “We have his other cards.” She held up said items, which she’d taken from his first corpse after it had killed Lars with Lars’s own knife, then itself been killed by Olivia. She felt her eyes start to burn again. She hadn’t much liked Lars, but it still hurt that he was gone.

“We don’t have the card that’s allowing him to come back,” Bram said. “That was our objective. And I’m not leaving until we complete it.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” a new voice said.

They all spun, looking for the source.

“Coward!” Daan shouted. “Show yourself.”

There came a laugh, high-pitched. Disturbed. It echoed around them, bouncing off the surrounding flats.

“He’s insane,” Ilse muttered to herself.

“How about a taste of your own medicine?” the madman replied.

“Where is he?” Niels asked frantically.

Sanne shook her head. The madman’s voice echoed too much between the blocks of flats lining the narrow street for her to pinpoint.

Then another sense picked up his approach.

“Look out!” she warned, but too late. She had detected the attack, but in her weakened state, only when it was so close even Lars might not have been able to dodge it.

A bottle of Vodka with a flaming rag stuffed into its neck hit Niels on the head, spilling burning liquid over him.

It didn’t break, but it’d hit hard enough to daze the man.

The idiot should have worn the helmet.

Like Daan, he could fly, but was no Superman, and belatedly began screaming as the flames burned through his motorcycle gear. Its synthetic fibers were meant to protect from road rash, not fire.

The members of the group not on fire all looked up to the balcony—the balcony of their own flat—in time to see the naked madman leap from it.

He landed atop Niels—who was slapping frantically at his face and hair, trying to put out the fire, but only making it worse as his arms were already alight.

They both fell in a heap, the madman’s leg breaking with an audible crack.

He cried out in pain, but, disturbingly, Sanne saw he was smiling.

She was too stunned and weak to react.

The madman picked up the flaming bottle and began to beat Niels about the head with it, his own arm catching fire.

Which he didn’t seem to mind.

The bottle finally broke and more flames spewed out from it, splattering the huddled group. This finally broke them from their daze and caused them to scatter

Except for Sanne. The cape she clutched around her body began to burn, adding another scent to the miasma of alcohol and burning skin and fabrics.

But while the smell was sickening, the feel of the fire on her skin wasn’t. It was invigorating.

She let go of the cape, dropping her hands to her sides and breathing deep, sucking the flames into her.

The madman, his skin reddened and blistered in places from the fire, looked at her, seeing the haze around her body return. “Crap.”

He shoved the broken bottle into Niels’ neck as Niels lay helplessly on the ground, already unconscious from the repeated blows to the head.

“Enough,” Bram said, and cast off his robe, even as he did his body growing fur and scales and tripling in size as he raised a now-giant fist in the air.

“Double-crap,” the madman said, then was crushed under Bram’s giant, clawed fist.