I grabbed the chain and pulled Shane toward me. Instinctively, he thrust his knife into my stomach. I had to be quick. I could already feel my life draining as I fought the Red power in his knife.

His hand pressed against the knife in my gut, I grabbed hold of the cuffs and pulled them around, latching them together on his wrists. Shane screamed with fury as he tried to pull away. I had a hold on the chains and refused to let go, so he tried the draining touch on me.

Still close, I fell over and pulled him down to the dusty brick pavement, rolling over and feeling the blade pierce through the flesh of my back as I pushed myself on top of him. With one last bit of energy, I brought my head down on his face, bursting his forehead with the force of my glowing helmet.

Disoriented, Shane paused his draining just long enough for me to grab hold of his arms and detach one of the cuffs. Slamming my helmet into his head again, I pulled him to his stomach and reattached the cuffs behind his back just as he pulled his blade out of my stomach and toward his cuffed hands.

I twisted around so the blade went further into my stomach, not out, and pulled on the handle. It felt as though the knife would pass right through me, Shane’s cuffed hands reaching out for it with his Red power. It took all the healing strength I had to keep me on my feet as I took step after painful step away from Shane. I finally got far enough away to pull the knife out of my body and hurl it into the misty night. It disappeared into a lightless side-street with a surprisingly dim clang.

I turned and saw Shane, still rolling on the ground and trying to get up, cackling like a trapped dog.

“Shut up!” I said, and landed a kick across his teeth, panting and trying to keep my adrenaline and anger under control long enough to heal the still burning wound in my stomach. I grunted, breathed, spat blood, tried to stay on my feet, but collapsed onto my knees.

The wound went from my lower stomach all the way out my back, barely cracking two pieces off my backbone. I felt the sting of ruined organs bleeding out and the burn of the contents of my liver and intestines poisoning my insides. I couldn’t scream. Screaming would break my concentration. I had to remain calm and keep my mind on healing as much as possible. Vomiting helped.

I keeled over, and as my liver and intestines scarred, my entire abdomen heaved and I ejected the contents of my stomach. Blood, stomach acid, and the liquids from my other spilled organs splattered onto the dust-covered pavement. Like the snapping of rubber on my skin, I made the wound seal.

The torture lasted maybe half a minute. When I felt strong enough to get to my knees and slowly rise to my feet, I wiped my mouth and looked down at the struggling Shane.

He screamed. He rolled. He fought and he pushed at the bounds I had placed on him. But without knowing where his blessed knife was, he had no way to return it to his bound hands, no way to cut himself free.

“I don’t hold a grudge, you know,” I said, and coughed once. “I’m here to do a job I believe in, same as you.” I bent over and grabbed hold of the chains connecting the cuffs, lifting Shane like a twitching, panicking bundle. “It’s not your fault I’m just hard to kill. Now let’s get you back to Sevens. I’m sure the Sept has a lot to say.”

“Corn pudding!” Shane screamed. “Corn pudding blood knife police death knife dirty—”

I brought my helmet down onto the back of Shane’s head. The blow was hard enough I felt a splatter of blood against my arm and the ease of my burden as Shane fell unconscious.

I shook my head, sorry that Shane had fallen so far. “It’s talk like that that sent me here in the first place. Who knows? Maybe they can still help you, return you here sane again,” I said.

I didn’t know why I felt like consoling the madman, especially since I’d knocked him out.

Keeping Shane held in one hand, I reached into my pocket with the other and pulled out my portable phone and dialed Garlan’s number. It only took a single ring before she picked up.

“Ready to head back, Mec?” Garlan asked with surprising humor despite the early hour.

“Yes. And I have Shane with me ready to return to Sevens. I’m in the Trains District on the corner of…” I checked the streets. “East Cedar and twenty-first. How soon can you get here?” A long pause followed. “Garlan?”

“You what?”

“I have Shane and I’d like to bring him back to Sevens before he regains consciousness.”

“You have Shane?”

“Is it really that surprising?”

Most Gold Prophets say they have heightened hearing. Their quick reflexes and ability to spot threats usually proves this handily. However, I’ve never been very good at it, possibly another drawback of having profound self-healing. This was why I didn’t hear the click of the revolver behind me.

“Garlan I need you to contact—” I said as the phone exploded in my hand. Not having to guess what I would see, I turned around.

Khow! Khow! Khow!

Three shots hit me like the pricking of a wasp. One went in and out my healed back, the other into my right shoulder, the other sparking as it bounced harmlessly off my helmet. The shot to my shoulder made me drop Shane.

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I sighed. “You should know, detective,” I said, “a few bullets can’t hurt me. And they won’t stop me from taking him.” I pointed down at Shane, face-first in the dirt.

Khow! Khow!

He fired twice again, doing nothing more than ruin my clothes.

Donnegan was already reloading his revolver, his eyes fixed on me as I walked toward him. The six empty shells clattered to the pavement as he patiently inserted six more and readied the weapon with a clank of rusted metal. Without a word, he shot six more times, hitting me with every one.

I stepped back with the last three, feeling the pinch of them entering and exiting. The third shot was close to my face, bouncing off my noseguard with a blinding flash.

“Stop, Donnegan,” I said. “This isn’t your business.”

Donnegan paused, smoke wafting out the muzzle of his old revolver as his pudgy hands held steady. After seeing the lack of damage his bullets were achieving, he reached into the deep pocket of his overcoat, fumbling around the box of shells for six more.

Unafraid, I bent down and picked up Shane once more, feeling a burning pain when Donnegan’s magnum bullet burst through my fist. The cracking of bones and restringing of flesh was sickening but easy to ignore as I healed my hand and turned around.

“Let him go,” Donnegan threatened.

“No,” I said.

Khow!

I barely felt the bullet puncture my thigh as I walked toward Donnegan.

“He stays,” the detective said.

“He comes with me,” I said.

Khow-Khow!

The two bullets grazed my ribcage as I got closer to the detective.

“Restrictions, laws, criminals hide behind these. We need him, Prophet. He stops criminals when I can’t,” Donnegan said.

“He’s a murdering madman,” I said.

Khow!

The bullet glanced off my cheek as I got close enough to Donnegan to place my palm up against the muzzle of his revolver.

“Are you done?” I asked.

“Never,” he said, and dropped his revolver and reached into his jacket. With a wicked slice, he pulled out Shane’s seax, apparently collected after I’d tossed it away, and cut me across my already scarred stomach. With a scream, Donnegan thrust the blade at my throat.

I stepped to the side as he swung again and hit the cheek guard of my helmet. With a quick motion, he pulled the knife back from the ricochet and thrust it into my side. I didn’t say a word as I stopped, examining the fat man’s motions as he lifted the knife to chop through me.

“Gah!” Donnegan shouted when he brought the knife down. I raised my arm to block it and the blade sunk into my forearm, clanging against my bone as it instantly healed. My skin knitted around the knife and Donnegan pulled at it, unable to retrieve it from the inside of my arm.

“What are you trying to accomplish here, detective?” I asked, keeping my arm stiff as Donnegan yanked.

“To keep Shane alive,” he said through clenched teeth.

“The insane madman?”

The detective tried desperately to remove Shane’s weapon, the Red powers it held dormant unless used by its owner. Apparently Donnegan didn’t realize this aspect of the blade. “He’s more than that. He’s, he’s…” Donnegan panted, searching for words.

“A shadow of death.”

“But only for those the people hate!” Donnegan reasoned.

I yanked my arm and pulled Shane’s seax out of Donnegan’s hands, knocking the man off balance.

The detective stood, panting. “Please, please,” he said. “You can’t take away the only hope this city has. I can’t let you.”

I pulled the seax out of my arm, the ripping noise of skin being broken and healed making me grunt as I examined the weapon. “You really care that much. Prosperity really loves their shadow that much.”

“Don’t kill him!” I heard Garlan shout. “Mec, don’t kill…” The White Prophet froze when she shifted into the courtyard, seeing me holding Shane’s weapon over Detective Donnegan, Shane cuffed near her. “Detective Donnegan?”

“I was right then,” I said. “You do know more than you pretended to, Garlan. Here, catch.” I tossed the seax into the air. As expected, Garlan reached out and pulled it to her hand with her telekinetic White powers.

“Garlan,” Donnegan said. “He knows. He knows what we were trying to do.”

Garlan froze, her mouth moving as she looked at the seax with shock and indecision.

“Garlan, we have to help Shane!” Donnegan pleaded. “We can’t lose him!”

“You killed an innocent man, detective,” I interjected, pointing at the cooled body of the pimp. “Why did you shoot him?”

“What? He wasn’t innocent and you—”

“He was afraid. That’s what Shane said drove him mad. Fear, the pain of fear.”

Khow!

At some point, Donnegan had reloaded his revolver.

“I don’t care how many bullets I have to throw at you. I won’t let you take him — he’s the only reason we’re not overrun,” Donnegan said as he leveled his gun at me, the shot healed before he could put his finger back on the trigger.

One thing I noted above all else: his hand never shook as he stared me down.

“You really have no fear, do you?” I asked.

“Garlan, give me the knife,” Donnegan said, and reached a leveled hand to the White Prophet, ready for Shane’s blade.

“That’s it then.”

“What?”

“It’s a funny thing about shadows, detective,” I said as I turned and walked toward the cuffed Shane. “They never show their true face. In the end, that outline, that shadow of death, it could really be anybody.” I bent over and picked up Shane once more, grunting with exhaustion.

“What?” Donnegan asked.

“You were right, Donnegan. You can’t throw away so potent an idea as a shadow of death for evil.”

“Are you going to let him go?”

“I’m going to bring this man back to Sevens, detective.” I pointed at Shane. “That was my mission, to protect the idea of the Prophets. What you do with the idea of Shane, is not my job.”

I gave a look to Garlan, to the knife. Her eyes widened, as did Donnegan’s.

“Keep training,” I said to Garlan. “I’m sure you’ll make Blesser easily. Now, I’m tired, dirty, and in clothing that’s about to fall off. Send me back to Sevens if you will, Garlan. I’d like to get this over with. And I have no doubt you have a lot of work ahead of you, Detective Donnegan.”

For the first time since I’d arrived in Prosper, I smiled, however briefly.

I didn’t say another word as Garlan quickly shifted me back to Sevens, leaving Shane’s weapon in capable, unshakable hands.

“They told me there would be cheering,” Garlan said days later, when Shane’s trial was over. “They told me you would receive great honor.”

“I did my job,” I said.

“But none of that, of that duty nonsense was true.” The silent Prophets at the trial attested to that.

“No. I’m no hero. No one cheered when Shane was silenced.” As I walked around the compound of the Sevens Prophets, I ignored the stares of my fellow Prophets, all hurrying to their work.

“But he wasn’t really silenced. The name Shane is still a shadow of Prosperity, despite the man being locked away.”

I nodded.

“So why did you do it?” Garlan asked.

I told myself it was the right thing to do.