Liam Scott and Basil Rock stood on an auxiliary yacht, the Sunbeam, miles from port. Its sails, more for show and naval tradition, were down, its boiler hungry and smokestacks without smoke. They invited countless associates to witness Arwen Mordecai's death.

"Will he really come?" Rock murmured.

"Yes."

"I have trouble understanding why the Prime Minister would come."

Scott said, "I worked with Arwen. He will come."

The rumor that the ASSR Director worked in tandem with the Prime Minister was partly true. Few know the true extent of their collaboration.

Rock didn't press Scott further.

"I see them."

"Where?"

"Over yonder. Hold still. Right there."

Scott guided Rock's brass binoculars to the dock.

"They're heading inside!"

People stirred in excitement.

"Have you done it?" Rock asked.

"Patience." Scott murmured.

The crowd behind yelled. Someone said, "Let me fire the damn flare."

Scott twirled the signal gun in his hand. "Tell you what. Take it from me and y'all can shoot the shot."

A man charged him. Scott dodged the burly arms and kicked the man overboard.

"Anyone else?"

The crowd, skittish, had no objections. Rock was the only one who could speak.

"I'll put a bounty on your fucking head if Arwen escapes."

Scott slid a knife up his sleeve. "The wait makes the spectacle more satisfying."

"I have no time for-"

Bang.

Rock flinched. Red smoke illuminated the ink-spilled world.

"Did you...?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Rock said as he peered through his binoculars harder.

Rock had good reason to fear Liam Scott, a wolf unafraid to bite, a Soldier Dragon who became too fond of guts and bones. His destructive tendencies persisted even when discharged. Rock saw countless veterans returning with the same restless look in their eyes. The battlefield devoured their souls, trapping them in a purgatory many couldn't escape. Scott was different. The two crossed paths once before and though his face was rugged and impassive like a cliff, Rock could tell Scott detested civil life by the hate he cast upon everything with his gaze. He terrorized the streets and enjoyed it, until he was caught in the act of beating someone to death. Rumors had it that Arwen gave the order to put Scott down, quietly. Everyone thought the man had died. No one survives the ASSR special agents. Rock, in a stroke of luck, or horrid misfortune, stumbled on Scott in an alleyway, the man's legs blown off, a chunk of his shoulder, gone.

Rock kicked the body.

Scott lifted his head to snarl, teeth stained red. "Leave."

A man in his situation could only be dead or daring.

Rock squatted. "You've never looked better."

Scott slurred his words and drew out the syllables, his way of speaking or delirium from pain Rock didn't know. "What do you want? To finish me off?"

"Why would I? We share the same goals that neither of us can fulfill alone."

Scott spat on the other man's shoe. Rock's forehead grew hot and he wanted nothing more than to crush Scott's skull.

The future, think of the future. If I do, Louis will praise me for holding my temper. For once.

"Who do you want to kill?"

"What?"

Rock gestured at Scott's missing lower half, "The people who did this to you, or the person who did this to you?"

"All. I want them all dead at my feet."

"Let us work together-"

"I reckon you're working with Arwen, to receive a pardon."

"He wants you dead. I want you alive." Rock fished out a card from his breast pocket and put it on the ground in the hole in Scott's shoulder. "Basil Rock of Eel Loans/Green is King. You might have heard of me."

"No idea."

Rock stood. "I'll bring a doctor. Stay alive, please."

And Basil Rock hurried away, vowing to never be left unattended with Liam Scott.

A mushroom fireball incinerated the roof, its heat, like sun on a blazing summer day, scorched Scott's face miles away. Wind fanned the flames until the entire wharf was set ablaze.

Rock hollered, "Yes! Burn! Burn!" He smashed the binoculars on the deck in excitement.

The crowd jockeyed closer to see the demise of the person that persecuted them for decades. The ship began listing and threatened to capsize.

Scott swung his pistol holding the crowd at bay.

Rock leaped on his partner, "No human could survive that!" He looked back at the fires. "They're dead. Arwen never should have personally meddled in our affairs."

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Scott shoved Rock away. "Quit grinnin' like a possum!"

Rock snatched the gun and tossed it into the ocean, "Celebrate! We must celebrate this moment."

He forced Scott to keep his hand up,"This is the birth of a new era! No longer will we hide in the gutters of society. We are free! Free to live and work as we please."

The crowd roared their approval and the wooden floorboards creaked as the passengers went below decks to wine and dine and engage in decadent acts to commemorate the night. Had they stayed a minute more they would've seen a black dragon with gold veins fly into the night.

Liam Scott and Basil Rock were in the former's home recovering from the previous night's festivities that had lasted till dawn. The most striking decoration in the well-furnished place was not the large glass tank on the kitchen counter but the balcony and living room bursting with pots of leafy green plants. Scott slid an omelet on a plate and used the spatula to lift bacon out of the oil sizzling in the pan. A chair scraped the floor. Rock sat hunched at the dining table, clothes scuffed, nursing a fierce headache. Scott twirled the knife in his hand and picked up the plates with his other. He stabbed the knife into the table scarred from the abuse and set the plates down on the lime placemats between polished silver utensils.

Rock pointed at the knife. "Do you mind?"

Scott looked at it. "Old habit."

He tossed the knife into its wooden sheath on the kitchen counter without a glance backwards. Rock straightened and picked up a fork, jabbing it into a crisp bacon strip. "You made this?"

"Yes."

Rock scrutinized the meat. He crunched the bacon. Scott smiled.

Rock stopped chewing. "Is this-!"

Scott swiped a strip off his plate and chomped on it. "Thoroughly cooked. I wouldn't kill my benefactor. Where is Mack?"

Rock swallowed, cautiously. "In hiding."

"We should tell him the good news, he's the wit behind our brawn I wonder, what's next?." Scott pulled a chair back and stopped. "Excuse me."

He plucked some leaves and returned to the kitchen. He untied his green apron, stuffing it into a drawer. Scott smoothed his navy suit. Was that a dribble of vomit on his shoulder? It took Scott considerable effort to drag Rock off that cursed boat away from his degenerate friends before he drank himself to oblivion. Carrying a drunk man was not pleasant. Twice, Scott had to stop and hold Rock as he puked. Half-digested chunks of food pelted Scott's fine shoes. The smell made him nauseous. He looked at the knife. Perhaps he should. No, no. He shouldn't kill his partner so quickly, not when they had so much in common. A penchant for violence, for instance. Scott stood in front of the tank on the beige wooden counter. A bright green lizard that lifted itself onto the log. Scott put a hand under its smooth underbelly and picked it up. He'd always been fond of lizards, the closest animal relation of the dragons. Lisko had been with him since he was a child. Its eyes were sunken and it spent most of its time basking in the sun on the counter underneath the window, telltale signs of age. Scott walked to the tray he kept warm on the stove to carry Lisko to the table so it could eat with them. He spread bugs over the leaves he'd sprinkled on the tray. Lisko curled its tail around Scott's wrist and he lifted the lizard to eye level.

Scott smiled. "Do you want apple slices, Lisko? I'm sure you do, I'm sure you do Lisk-"

A bullet sliced the lizard's head off. Blood splattered across Scott's eyes. A shadow flickered past the window.

Lisko?

He lowered the lizard into its tank. Grief. What was it? He no longer knew. Scott wiped his eyes. But, he should thank the person who killed his lizard. Its death stirred his heart, and for a fleeting moment, he experienced sorrow. Liam Scott withdrew a machete from the oven.

"Stay alive, Basil Rock."

Rock scrambled into the kitchen just before the ceiling caved. The intruder landed on the table, shoving the broken pieces aside. Scott hurled a knife. Alter Carlebach ducked. He unsheathed a sword- beautiful and short, with a double crescent guard. Scott bounced on his heels to keep himself light. He wanted to laugh. The ASSR sent not a team of officers or a special agent, but Alter Carlebach, a politician with only an advantageous physique. This was ridiculous. Liam Scott was to fight a child playing with a weapon. More concerning was his face, blackened by soot, and his scorched coat still smoldered orange embers. Carlebach and Mordecai were inseparable. If Mordecai died, so too did Carlebach. If Carlebach lived...

He lunged.

Carlebach reacted quicker than anticipated. His vicious slash shattered the machete, but Scott had lacerated the back of his hand. Scott retreated and tossed a second knife into the air and caught it by its leather hilt. Carlebach grunted, squeezed his hand to dull the pain and sheathed the sword.

"I never liked fighting with knives." he said, bringing his fists up.

Scott angled his blade down. "A fatal mistake."

Carlebach rushed, pivoting to throw a right hook at Scott's jaw. He ducked and stabbed his stomach. Resistance. He wore a protective vest. He grabbed and plowed his knee into Scott's nose multiple times until he hooked a leg around Carlebach's and toppled both of them. They disentangled. Scott clutched his face, breathing through his mouth as his flattened nose reconstructed itself. His tongue poked his gum, new teeth sprouting to replace the ones littering the floor. He should be more cautious of the boy. Carlebach's body was indeed his greatest asset. Scott tossed the blade, the metal bent, misshapen, useless. All those associated with Arwen were close to him for a reason.

Rock shrieked, a man gripped by fear itself, "He's dead, he's dead! Arwen Mordecai is dead!"

Carlebach chuckled. He looked at the door. Rock inched forward.

Scott shoved him behind, muttering, "You cannot fight him."

Was this a diversionary tactic?

Knock, knock.

The door opened.

Scott whistled low, "I do declare, Arwen Mordecai's alive!

Blessed is he, who survives.

Scott could not help but feel the dread of fear seize his limbs and steal his breath and muddle his mind.

Arwen removed his holster and his hat and hung them on a hook.

"Good afternoon gentlemen, I haven't missed the fun, have I?" Arwen removed his gloves, his mouth a thin hard line, "Good."

"NO!" Rock lunged at Arwen. "Scott, get rid of Alter. I'll end this old man."

How difficult could it be? Arwen's grandfather age whereas Rock was in his prime. Rock struck him in the stomach with a spate of blows. Arwen doubled over, clutching his chest. Rock grabbed a chair and was about to smash it down. Arwen tackled him. He bashed Rock's head repeatedly into the wall. He kicked him but his legs grew weaker and his vision blurred. He couldn't be this strong. He clawed at Arwen's wiry arm, hands numb, letting out a whimper that made Arwen smile and pause the torture, savoring that slip of weakness. His nails perforated Rock's scalp as he lifted the body off the ground.

Arwen's distant voice caressed him as he patted his cheek, "Are you alive, Basil? Still alive? I've only just started."

The last of the colors faded black.

"Scott," he whispered.

Scott transformed to defend his life. His pupils converted into orange slits and his fingers curled into claws. He became faster, stronger. He slipped under a punch, past the guard, and threw a slug that cracked Alter's protective vest. Scott evaded a kick. He slipped behind him and snatched something off the coffee table. He beat a potted plant into Alter's head. He clawed at the bastard's neck but missed the vein.

"Scott."

Blood gushed out the back of Rock's head, cracked like an egg, and pooled around Arwen's shoes. His body quivered, then went limp.

The fool went and killed himself.

Scott got nicked in the chin. Alter was difficult enough, but now Arwen? The floorboards broke as Scott sprinted around him, launching quick jabs that cut flesh. He needed to incapacitate Alter to make his escape. Scott stomped his foot into the ground and swiped at his neck, but his body trembled and slowed.

Alter's eyes flashed copper.

He grunted, recovering from that lapse and lunged to slash his face.

Must've been the light.

Scott staggered when Alter kicked his shin. He'd missed his chance to kill Arwen. Future attempts would be impossible. Bitterness ruptured his chest and he lashed out wildly at Alter's head. He rammed his shoulder into Scott and he fell, hands clutching his wrists. Alter's weight alone choked Scott. Then, out of nowhere in this dire situation, pressure from pent up breaths squeezing his veins into prominence, he asked a question.

"Why did you kill my lizard?"

Creases formed around Alter's eyes. "It was Arwen who shot your lizard."

Scott pulled him close, so close he could see his empty black eyes void of his reflection. He punched the floor and pulled a pin. Smoke filled the room.

Scott slumped against a wall, chest heaving as his wounds boiled. He could see the fat, the muscles withering away to heal the worst injuries. A look of ravenous hunger stretched across his face. Liam Scott was in an alley again and again mortally wounded. But he knew nobody would walk round that corner and stumble upon him. He'd looked forward to it, the chaos he and Basil Rock could've caused. It was gone. Just like that. All their efforts, in vain. To fight Arwen was to fight fate itself. And they lost. Scott refused to accept that.

I will. I will kill.

His chest heaved as hate spread virulently in his body and he ground his teeth muttering the loathsome name that gave him the strength to stand and walk.

"Arwen Mordecai. Arwen Mordecai. Arwen. Mordecai."