The parlour door swings open with a kick. "Wooo!" Madarame runs in as the parlour roars with cheers.

  Seraphiel follows behind calmly. Derek comes up to him and punches him on the arm. "Whatcha get up to then, King-Sir?" Seraphiel releases a sincere but simpering smile.

  "Just stamp collecting."

  Derek is a huge man, but this was his forte.

  "Can I have one, please, please." He clutches his hands and raises his voice like a little girl asking for a new doll.

  Seraphiel pulls out a Verezian first-class stamp. It was black and had a silhouette of a woman with long flowering hair; her hair was braided with mistletoe.

  "Thank you!" Derek runs off to get his scrapbook.

  Madarame leans back, chugging liquor, talking about the occult rituals, cathedral meetings, the Man of Flame, and more. He fails to mention Seraphiel's pact and new power with the Tengu and the death match with Sura. Not out of secrecy or humiliation, but out of care; he did not want to worry them, as they saw him as their protector.

  If a bulwark shakes in the face of a single siege weapon, how can those standing behind it rest easy?

  Granted, this siege weapon duplicated itself…

  "Come 'ere." He gestures with his cup towards Seraphiel. "Is that so…" Hiro mutters, hearing of this spectacular performance performed by Seraphiel. "How did you manage to do that?" Seraphiel smiles, raising his finger to his lip. "Shh."

  The next morning Hiro challenges Seraphiel to a duel. All night, Seraphiel was inundated with questions and pleas to reveal this new method of training, where so soon he lost to a boy and then put down a mythical beast.

  Hiro dashes, giving it his all. He adorns a scarf around the lower half of his face and has a dark green silk hood on, which he presumably snatched. Seraphiel watches this display, now yawn-inducingly slow after clashing with Sura. Hiro swings his dagger and snaps it at Seraphiel's chest.

  He steps to the side, grabbing his wrist.

  He lets go, and they resume. Not wanting to destroy this boy's ego, the next slash he leans into. "Agh, you got me."

  "See if I can get you, then that dog is toast," Hiro professes.

  "I'm sure you can."

  Sitting at the dinner table, Hiro fills Seraphiel in on details he missed. "I lost some money playing poke." He leans in. "Y'know, when you're king you wouldn't mind giving me a few hundred Serol?"

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

  "Fine. Only a few hundred," Seraphiel jests.

  "Also, remember those drug guys we beat up?"

  An incredibly euphemistic way of putting it.

  "Turns out they were about to make a major sale, and a whole bunch of guys came banging on the door asking for Madarame. He was out with you, of course."

  This piqued Seraphiel's interest. He wanted to test the gap between him and normal humans in a real fight, where killing intent was present.

  "Are they still in town?" He points his fork towards Hiro while chewing. The potato is hot, and the steam rising from his mouth makes eye contact impossible. The roof of his mouth is burnt, but that was hardly even noticeable for him now.

  "Of course, man. They are at the house, searching for cash and threatening everyone in the area."

  Seraphiel stands straight up. "Well, what are we doing here?"

  Hiro smiles and shoots up.

  They walk through the slums, making a detour to the red alleyway where Sol's murder rots.

  As they approach the building of the incident, they are met with a noisome odour. The corpses of the men they killed were on display and flayed at the front of the house.

  "Madarame, steal my blow and I'll blow your fucking head off," a sign on the chest of the largest one read.

  I guess they liked the rhyme. Money was stolen, no product — or perhaps they anticipated a return for the product.

  They were right about the return.

  Seraphiel jumps for joy at this sight; these guys are insanely mad. He sends Hiro to knock at the door.

  Knock, knock.

  "It's a kid," a voice whispers behind the door.

  "He'll fetch a price."

  The door swings open as hands fly out to grab Hiro. He dodges, runs in, and slams his sole right into the man's face.

  "Man, what the hell? Kill this little rat!"

  Bang.

  A pistol is fired straight at Hiro's head, Seraphiel appears from thin air and blocks with his wing. Still opting for one wing, with an unhealed wound from tearing the other out, he needed the pain to fight.

  "What the hell is that thing? It's the angel of death — run, we're finished!" He drops the gun and bolts.

  "Woa—" Hiro is distracted by the sight.

  Seraphiel flies at the man, realising his mistake. No killing intent; these guys are scared shitless. He shouldn't have let them see his power. "Oh well," he mutters. He drags his leg back before shooting out of the building towards the others running, and using the man as a weapon, he slams his body into the others, pulverising them all at the same time.

  Slam. Crash. Crack.

  All in hardly three seconds.

  He stands on the ground, observing the scene. Hiro rushes to the door in awe. "I want that too — how did you do that!"

  "Aha," Seraphiel says. "Madarame let me borrow some of his shadowy… stuff."

  They returned to the parlour. The next few weeks were uneventful; they hung about, rolling dice, drinking, shouting.

  Three days till the council in Verez.

  Sura is face to face with a man with reddish eyes, honey-like skin, and a tall body. They both stare at each other — Sura sizing him up, looking at the book at his belt, and Sol laced with evident boredom or disinterest.

  Flash.

  Sura swings his blade.

  The image fizzles.

  His strike at the man phases through, and the image of him distorts violently. The sky is changing colour, his face is changing shapes.

  Then it stops.

  Sol is standing behind him now.

  He walks away slowly.

  "You're quick, if i hadn't foreseen your moves you'd be a threat. Not fast enough".

  Sura smiles.