The herbicidal human didn't answer her phone, or her email. "What do you think, just show up at her apartment?" Himry asked as he zipped up his pants. His t-shirt still had three holes in the front from where Rizz had shot him. Himry reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the plant he had stolen from the garden center. It looked surprisingly healthy in its tiny little pot.

"Unless you have a better option." Joan replied. She had chosen a much more tactical look with a black plate carrier, black jeans, a pistol on her hip, and against all logic, a spear. It appeared to be made of some kind of smart metal that allowed it to retract and extend, seemingly at the speed of thought. There were no buttons or visible controls.

"Gershwin told you that he couldn't track her, so maybe she's laying low." Joan observed as she flowed from form to form, the spearhead flicking forward like a viper striking.

Himry frowned. Their whole plan was flimsy at best. They didn't know if this human was still there and if she was, would she be able to help them? Would she even want to? Then he considered things from a different perspective.

If it turned out to be a complete bust he could still take Gershwin's deal. But if things worked out, he and Joan would be set for life. It was worth the risk.

"It can't hurt to at least check out her apartment, then if she's not home or the trail goes cold we can hole up there and wait to be extracted." Himry said.

"That sounds good enough. But before we head out I need you to spar with me so you can get used to fighting someone armed with unconventional weaponry." The spear flowed back into the form of a half meter long black baton. "You've been lucky. The warhund wetware has done most of the work and the Gravekeeper has given you the chance to learn from your mistakes, even the fatal ones. But you've never fought someone armed with a vampirzahn."

"Oh? Well I've been around a fair bit." Himry said huffily. "How do you know I haven't fought one of these "vampirzahns" before?"

The metal in Joan's hand flowed to become a cavalry saber with a knuckle guard and she began to advance. "I know you've never tangled with one of these because you are still alive."

"Why not a spear?" Himry asked as he circled to the side to avoid being backed into a corner. "Spears give better reach."

"Some jobs require a sword. At least that's what the old kung fu movies say." Joan replied before she began her attack.

Joan did not lunge forward, she didn't run, she accelerated instantly like a slug fired from a railgun. Himry's wetware tried to keep up and plan a counter attack but she was just too fast. She was five feet away now and still building speed in a way that should not have been possible. There was no way her feet could give her enough traction to propel her forward like that. There was no way the floor could handle the force of her footsteps without breaking.

But still this human continued forward at impossible speed. The tip of her sword heated up from friction as it broke the sound barrier. Himry tried to dodge but it was no use.

At the last microsecond Joan retracted the blade so instead of decapitating him it just left a thin cut alongside his neck that bled profusely. It should have healed almost instantly. Instead it refused to close and Himry had to put pressure on the wound to stop himself from bleeding out.

Joan sighed dramatically from behind him. "You're too slow." She said, "You can't just soak damage like you've been doing and expect to survive. Maybe we should just take Gershwin's offer…"

Himry turned around, blood welling up between his fingers. The cut still wouldn't close. A cold chill of fear crept up his spine as he realized that he wasn't as untouchable as he had been led to believe. He could be hurt, maybe even killed.

"What the fuck is that thing?" Himry asked, pointing at the sword with his free hand, dropping his pistol on the floor. "Why can't I heal?" The room was spinning now. He had lost more blood than he thought.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Oh, this old thing?" Joan flicked her wrist and the sword extended again to its full length. "It's the one thing that can kill a warhund permanently and prevent them from coming back."

She began to circle around him again, pacing like a panther, which would have been incredibly hot if Himry wasn't currently bleeding out. "If you die from one of these the Gravekeeper won't let you come back for a very long time. No resurrection, no second chance, just a hundred years of darkness and the hope that when your time is up you are worth bringing back."

Himry felt his boots slipping in his own blood as it ran down his body onto the floor. "Why would… how?" He was struggling to stand now and his mind was getting foggy.

"It was Kerner's idea, apparently. He seemed to think that it was important for people to be able to die, even warhunds. He called it his gift to the universe." Joan looked at Himry, sizing him up. "You are about ready to collapse, aren't you?"

"Yeah… not feeling great." Himry's heart was beating faster and faster as it tried to compensate for the extreme blood loss. His vision was fading too, getting dark around the corners. "I think you might have killed me."

"I'm a demi-human, it's what we do. We hunt, we destroy, we devour, and then we move on. If I can kill you this easily then you wouldn't have survived anyway. Only the strong survive."

She lowered the sword, a look of sadness and resignation coming across her face. "I didn't want to do this but it was the only way for you to at least have a chance against what's coming. I know you feel betrayed and scared. I know you think I tricked you. But the kinter would have just stabbed you in the heart and been done with it. You wouldn't have even known what was happening until she killed you. So dig deep and fight! Fight!"

Himry wanted to fight it but there was so little left inside of him to fight with. The cut had done something to his wetware and it was beginning to shut down. He ran an internal diagnostic, everything seemed to be working fine except for the fact that he was bleeding to death. The system didn't know it had been compromised.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something standing behind Joan, an old thin hund in a long black wool coat with fur so dark that it seemed to drink the light. His ears were cropped and stood tall in the style of a Döbian warhund, a hand rolled cigarette perched on his black lips, and his eyes were rimmed with the living gold of a warhund.

Time froze as the figure walked towards Himry, the smoke from his cigarette weaving around him in impossible patterns like living shadow.

"So… are you going to figure this out or are you coming with me?" The figure asked in a language that Himry's wetware tagged as pre-war Döbian.

"Who the fuck are you?" Himry demanded, unable to move.

"Oh, I am nobody." The old hund said with a raspy chuckle like gravel scratching against a gravestone. "Some call me Grandfather Death and those less polite refer to me as the Old Black Dog. But it doesn't matter. None of that really matters to me." He let out another low chuckle. "I always get the last laugh, you see?"

"Any words of advice then? Maybe you can help me figure this out? Save you a trip?" Himry's body had gone completely numb. He couldn't interact with it or anything else apparently. All he could do was talk. Luckily, that was something he was fairly good at.

"Oh, advice. Yes, I am full of good advice." Grandfather Death pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Himry. "For starters, he who chases two rabbits catches neither. And a personal favorite of mine, everything has an end… only the sausage has two."

Himry let out a groan. "So, none specific to my situation?"

"I could tell you what to do but that would be cheating!" Grandfather Death laughed jovially. "Not to worry though, according to my simulations you are capable of resolving this yourself. You only die ninety-eight percent of the time. And some of those times you even come back!"

Then without warning Grandfather Death disappeared and the world unfroze. Himry looked at Joan. "Do you know anything about a black furred hund that calls himself Grandfather Death?"

She spun around searching frantically, a panicked look on her face. "Shit! Is he still here?" Joan asked, "Please tell me he's not still here…"

The drekan felt his knees beginning to buckle. Himry began to fall to the ground, his hand coming away from the wound at his neck. He hit the floor with a thud. "I think he'll be back for me soon…" Himry choked out, the blackness beginning to surround him. He felt cold, oh so cold. So this was what dying for real felt like, he mused. This was different from the last time. It felt more final.

Something in Himry's mind echoed and reflected off the walls of his subconscious, becoming a feeling, not yet a completed thought. He was going to die, either way he was dying. But at least this way he had a chance of coming back. All he needed was a chance. Just one slim little chance….

He felt his mind interface with his smart pistol. It was laying on the floor next to him where he had dropped it. He designated a target, turned off the settings that prevented friendly fire, and watched as it slowly began to rotate like a planchette on a ouija board. The internal gyroscopes and stabilizers giving it some ability to move on it's own.

"I'm sorry, Joan." Himry whispered as he looked down the barrel of the gun and pulled the trigger with his mind. The last thing he heard was the sound of Joan screaming in shock and horror as he blew his own brains out.

It was the only way. The only way to survive.