Scene:

Scott's apartment.

Rock scrambled into the kitchen just before the ceiling caved. The intruder landed on the table and shoved the broken pieces aside. Scott hurled the knife. Alter Carlebach ducked. He unsheathed a sword, a beautiful short sword with a double crescent shaped guard. Scott flicked open a pocket knife, bouncing 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, a war veteran wielding a pocket knife, was to fight a child playing with a weapon.

He lunged. Carlebach reacted quicker than anticipated. His vicious slash destroyed the pocket knife, but Scott lacerated the back of Carlebach's 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 dagger.

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

Scott angled his blade down, "A terrible mistake."

Carlebach rushed, pivoting to throw a right hook at Scott's jaw.

He ducked and stabbed his stomach. Resistance. He was wearing 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, gasping through his mouth as his completely flattened nose reconstructed itself. His tongue poked the spaces in the gum tissue, new teeth sprouting to replace the ones littering the floor. He should be more cautious of the boy. Carlebach's body was his greatest strength. Scott dropped the blade, the metal bent, misshapen, useless. All those associated with Arwen are close to him for a reason.

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

"The casket is empty."

"No!"

Carlebach 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. In stepped a very much alive Arwen Mordecai who hung his hat on the clothing rack.

"Good afternoon gentlemen, I haven't missed the fun have I?"

Arwen took off his coat and gloves and nodded, his mouth a thin hard line, "Good."

Rock roared, "NO!" And charged Arwen. "Scott, get rid of Alter. I'll end the old man."

How difficult could it be? Arwen's an old man in his seventies whereas Rock was in his prime.

He shouted, "Welcome to the funeral parlor, Arwen!"

Rock struck him in the stomach with a spate of blows. He doubled over, clutching his chest from the pain. Rock grabbed a chair and was about to crush - Arwen tackled him. He smashed 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 burly arm, hands going numb and let out a whimper that made Arwen smile and pause the torture, savoring that slip of weakness. His fingers scratched into Rock's scalp as he lifted his body off the ground with one arm.

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

The last of the colors he could see faded black.

"Scott," Rock mumbled.

Scott transformed. His pupils became orange slits, blue scales covered his body, his fingers became claws, and he became faster, stronger.

He slipped under a punch, past his guard, and threw a slug that cracked his protective vest. Scott evaded a kick, got behind him and beat a potted plant into Carlebach's head. He took the opportunity to claw his 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. Carlebach was difficult enough, but now it seemed Arwen either lied about his age or the rumored Mordecai vitality was true.

The floorboards broke as Scott sprinted around him, launching quick jabs that cut flesh. He needed to slice a vein to incapacitate him so he could make his escape. Scott stomped his foot into the ground and swiped at his neck, but his body trembled and slowed.

Did Carlebach's eyes flash copper?

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

Must've been the light.

Scott staggered as Carlebach kicked his shin.

He'd missed his chance to kill Arwen. Future attempts would be impossible. Rock was dead. Despair and frustration ruptured his chest and he wildly lashed out at Carlebach's head. He rammed Scott with his shoulder and he fell, hands clutching his wrists to prevent them from choking him. Then, out of nowhere in this dire situation, pressure from pent up breath squeezing his veins into prominence, he asked a question prompted by his heart.

"Why did you kill it?"

Creases formed around Carlebach's eyes as he began to laugh.

"You have to admit it was very funny."

Scott chuckled and spat blood. He violently pulled him close, so close he could see his empty black eyes void of his reflection.

"Hilarious!"

Scott punched the floor and pulled the pin. Carlebach leapt in front of Arwen as smoke filled the room.

He slumped down, chest heaving as his wounds grew hot. He could see the fat, the muscles withering away to heal his heavier injuries. His cheeks became sunken and a ravenous look of hunger stretched across his face. He was in an alley again and again mortally wounded. But he knew there was no one who by a stroke of luck would round that corner and stumble upon him. He'd looked forward to it, the chaos they could've caused. Scott's 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."