Low, hazy fog loomed on the edges of the street as Henry sprinted in recklessly. A full row of grizzled henchmen lay between him and their hideout directly behind. Running down the very center of the street, he increased his stride, the empty roadway allowing him free rein to maneuver.

  It was a stark difference from the old streets of London, even including the first month after the Witching Hours began. Where there used to be abandoned vehicles strewn practically every road you came across, nowadays the lanes had been stripped entirely of anything remotely resembling a vehicle.

  Most often, they were cannibalized for spare metal and mana-conducive parts to maintain the Club’s own ramshackle motor pool. And when it wasn’t them who were doing it, typically it was one of the other two remaining human groups who needed the parts just as much as anyone else.

  As he approached, the gathered defenders made ready their respective weapons of choice, preparing themselves for a close-quarters brawl. An impressive collection of handmade steel clubs, large knives, and kludged-together apparatuses designed to convert appliance-grade Domain crystals into something more lethal came to bear. The thugs fanned out across the length of the street, aiming to encircle him and hem him in long enough for their numbers advantage to get the best of him.

  Heedless of their preparations, Henry continued his charge towards their lines. By now, there was less than 10 meters between them.

  Not yet.

  8 meters. The air around his opponents began to thrum with poorly contained magical energy, enchantments flaring to life on a few of the weapons they had on them. One in particular had a nasty-looking chain flail with a rebar handle, the individual links of which crackled with the cherry red glow of Fire Domain engravings.

  5 meters.

  Not yet.

  Engines blared to life in the distance, blinding white headlights illuminating the entry to the office’s adjoining parking garage. A bit surprising, to be honest. He hadn’t realized they considered burning alc-petrol to chase him down to be a warranted expenditure.

  Life was just full of surprises, these days. Almost made you wish for things to be boring again.

  2 meters.

  He squinted his eyes, preparing for the inevitable close quarters conditions.

  1 meter.

  One of the clubgoers shifted ever so slightly to the left, and Henry finally found his opening.

  Now.

  Just as the mob was about to close in on him entirely, Henry jinked to the side abruptly, pushing into the side of the crowd to spoil their concerted efforts. Holding his arms protectively in front of his face, he bullied his way through the thinly spread line, brief flashes of his reactive shield searing contrasting shadows on his frame as those in his immediate vicinity pummeled him from multiple angles. The reactive force shield wavered, but held.

  Normally, he didn’t like to rely on it too heavily, but this was about as good of a use case for the crystal’s defensive measures as he’d likely find anywhere. Clubs clattered harmlessly against the spectral barrier, knives slid along surfaces that only appeared for as long as the threat of the blade was mere inches from its mark.

  Frankly, he was hard pressed to think of a time where it had proven its capabilities better than it was doing now. As the duplicate from yesterday could attest to, it was rather trivial for a properly motivated opponent to break past. Being that it was a brutally stingy piece of magic, it only ever reacted to immediate threats. But, so long as those threats weren’t persistent or particularly high-powered, he’d live. Or worst case, a copy would take his place.

  Before he knew it, he had elbowed his way out of the crowd. Immediately he angled towards one of the many nearby back alleys scattered throughout the urbanized wasteland, the encroaching rumble of engines signaling the imminent arrival of reinforcements. Honestly, had he expected such a heated response, he probably would have opted to be more civil with his arrival.

  The flaming chain whip, held by one of the more strikingly dressed thugs, cracked through the air. It lashed him from behind, but just like the rest, it also bounced harmlessly off the reactive shield.

  His gut was telling him a few more hits like that would be enough to punch through, though. Testing his limits was not something he intended to follow through with today.

  Pumping his legs even harder, he continued his mad dash – both in the hopes of outrunning the arriving motorbikes as well as whatever else the Club seemed willing to throw at him.

  A hint of the scent of smoke reached his nostrils as he maintained his breathing. Wonder what that was about. Maybe the chain rebounded and hit one of their own?

  He risked a glance over his shoulder. Which, as it turned out, made it abundantly clear what the root cause was. A small spark of a flame, little larger than the size of a candle, had burst to life on the back of his shirt, slowly eating away at the fabric as it sought to find purchase.

  Then the stinging pain finally caught up with his senses, causing him to hiss in pain as he patted down the burnt patch to snuff it out. Definitely would need to keep an ear out for that chain later in the chase, then.

  That was too close.

  Finally, he closed the remaining distance to the alley, ducking into the narrow passage and doing his best to shimmy past the assorted dumpsters, refuse and accumulated rubble that had piled up from months of disuse. Behind him, the rumble of motors died down as their riders disembarked, joining the throng pressing its way in behind him.

  Almost there… Now to make sure that they all get as tired as possible.

  In between the buildings was a veritable labyrinth of cramped corridors. Seemingly at random, Henry would duck down one turn or the next, while others were bypassed entirely. The gang in pursuit, while they were keeping up for the most part, was still a considerable distance behind him.

  Though, in their defense, he hadn’t been able to shake them, either.

  Perfect, he thought. They won’t see this next part coming.

  Another turn, and a chain link fence loomed at the end of the alley. Without hesitation, he rushed towards the steel grate. With no small amount of exertion, he grabbed the top of the fence and lifted himself upward as explosively as he could manage.

  He might not have been an athlete of any sort before the Shroud came down on top of them, but natural selection had proven time and again over the last months that being a sprinter was a survival trait.

  Now look at me… I hadn’t seen a pull-up bar since I left school, and here I am using my surroundings like a personal jungle gym.

  His pursuers encroached dangerously close to his position by the time he finished struggling near the top of the fence and threw his first leg over. The flimsy wire wouldn’t hold them for long, but as he dropped down off the top, he guessed that he’d be able to make up the lost distance and then some if they tried to force their way through.

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  Even if they didn’t and climbed over like he did, it would be a bad situation for them. There was only space enough for one person to jump the fence at a time, and there were at least a dozen of them cramped almost single file into the alley.

  Not that he was sticking around to figure out what their next move would be. He had schemes of his own to fulfill.

  A few more jukes and turns finally brought him to the destination he had been leading them on toward. Waiting just around the corner, one of his duplicates lay waiting, fresh and ready to continue the chase in his stead.

  They high-fived, and Henry fell in behind the copy to catch his breath while the other peered around the corner with a wide grin plastered over his face.

  “Think any of them ever ran a marathon before?”

  “Didn’t bother to ask them,” Henry replied sarcastically between deep breaths. “Though, maybe if you walk up to them and ask nicely, they’ll tell you?”

  “Hah. No chance of that. Guess I’ll just have to- wait, they’re coming now. Best duck inside for a moment, mate.”

  Henry didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed the bent metal door behind him open just enough to slip inside, keeping his breathing as shallow as possible as he laid perfectly still in the darkness. Just beyond the door, shouts of alarm echoed off the walls in the direction he arrived from as the Gentleman’s Club began to catch up.

  His duplicate dashed off, the mob hot on his heels and blissfully unaware that they’d had the wool pulled over their eyes.

  The sounds of footsteps faded away into the distance, but Henry waited a solid minute after that before he was willing to relax. His legs were already starting to ache from how hard he’d pushed himself earlier, but he didn’t have time for more than his quick breather. Now that he was clear of the guards, he needed to make the most of the small window he had to sneak his way in.

  He stepped back out into the alleyway, now completely silent and empty save for the ever-present mist that swirled on the ground wherever you stepped. There’d been a reason he’d picked out this building ahead of time, when they were scoping out their options. This one had a sturdy drainpipe down the back that was bolted into the wall deep enough to support his weight. Roof access meant seeing the guards before they saw him, along with giving him practically a straight shot to the office building which he could dart through uncontested.

  All the while, his three clones would be taking turns running the guards around in circles and engaging in hit-and-run harassment tactics. The longer they kept them all occupied, the better. In the meantime, he’d use his current vantage point to get a better lay of the land, and be in and out before anyone knew any better.

  Just as he was about to execute on that plan, however, a sound like shearing metal tore through the night sky from somewhere up above. Frantically, his eyes darted upward, quickly finding the source perched over the side of the office complex roof and sending his senses into high alert.

  A chill ran down Henry’s spine as he saw the silhouette hunched on top of the corner of the building. The full moon acted like a backlight for the intimidating figure, humanoid in nature but with a pair of symmetrical winglike protrusions furled behind its back, nearly a head and a half taller than the figure itself.

  This did not bode well for him in the slightest. He recognized the specific lapdog that the club was about to sic on him.

  Holy shit, they’ve brought the Harpy of Woolwich into it!

  The figure leapt high into the sky from its perch above, launching itself in an impressive arc that nearly brushed the ceiling of the Shroud before it began to dive back down to earth. Like a streaking comet, it soared down towards him from above. Its singular clockwork eye stared directly into his soul, unblinking.

  This was bad. As in, top five worst possible outcomes bad. And he only had moments to come up with something that wouldn’t end with him as red paste on the floor.

  Time that he wasn’t about to get, either. The wings unfurled, the steel blade-like feathers glinting in the moonlight as the turbines within screamed to life. On a dime, the Harpy seemed to immobilize itself midair, hovering just out of reach as it used its magic to soften him up from range.

  Blades of air sliced through the ground in front of him, forcing him back a step to avoid losing a foot to the Air Domain magic. With nowhere else to go, Henry followed the only option he was left with.

  He dived off the side of the roof, bracing for impact with the concrete pavement below.

  For the briefest of moments, he could feel the cold iron of the ice pick in his hand again. He could see the one-eyed wolf staring him dead in the eyes, teeth bared in fury as they tumbled through the air together.

  Then he blinked again, and the moment disappeared just as quickly as it arrived.

  This time, the impact with the ground was a lot less debilitating. Rolling to break his fall, combined with his force-dispersing reactive shield meant that hitting the ground this time only left him with the wind knocked out of him, rather than with broken bones. It was, however, not without consequences.

  The shield shattered to pieces, announcing loudly to the world that it had been stressed beyond the limits of what it could absorb. He’d be stuck without it until some time tomorrow. Which, considering his current situation, did not exactly bode well for him.

  The ground shook from the impact as his opponent touched down in front of his prone form. With a sudden gust of air, the resulting dust cloud was quickly dispersed to the four winds, leaving Henry to scramble to his feet in case he needed to react even faster.

  Mechanical whirrs and clicks beat a staccato pattern as the Harpy rose to its full stature. Part man, and part machine, it clad itself in a shawl of dark green tattered rags. Thin strips of loose yellow bandage poking out from beneath, buffeted by the wind generated by the idling turbines. Very little flesh was visible beneath all the cloth and steel; only its hands and head could be confirmed as mostly unmodified.

  Its hair was tied into a long ponytail that billowed in the gusting wind, long enough to border on impracticality as well as being a similar dark green to its clothes. Aside from the giant steel wings, their build was unassumingly androgynous, leaving Henry – and everyone else who had seen the Harpy and lived to tell about it – unsure if they were a man or a woman. Between the gasmask that covered the lower half of their face and the blindfold through which their singular mechanical lens of an eye protruded, there was no way to be certain one way or another.

  There was a lot going on once you got a close look at them, that was for certain. The most eye-catching detail by far, however, definitely had to be the fully bionic right leg it sported.

  Not because it was a robot leg, though that was admittedly a killer detail that helped tie the whole murder-machine look together. No, what was most important to those in the know was the numerical identifier that ran along the length of it.

  0004. As the writing caught the moonlight, the text would quiver ever so slightly, reflecting the shine with greater luminosity than should realistically be possible.

  One of the older devils in the dozen.

  The wings on the its back tucked back away with a heavy chunk. Its voice rattled through the filter of the respirator, addressing him directly.

  “Oh. It’s you, then,” the words came out with a heavily modulated warble. “Looking for trouble elsewhere in London, are we, Mr. Thompson?”

  Henry coughed slightly as he inadvertently inhaled some of the dust kicked up by the dramatic entrance. “Hey, Four,” he began. “Glad to see you again, too…”

  They ignored his pleasantries altogether. “State your business, or leave. Further antagonizing will be met with force.”

  “Jeez, not even a ‘how do you do’? Well, if you’re going to be like that,” he coughed once more midsentence. “I need to talk to Guillaume.”

  “That will not happen,” the Harpy stated matter-of-factly. “Leave now, or be cut down where you stand.”

  “Hm, not sure if I like either of those options…” He raised a finger to his chin in mock thought. “How about, instead, we pick up where we left off last time, and I go see him once we finish our fight?”

  Clicks of ratcheting metal sounded out as the Harpy shifted immediately into a martial arts stance, hands outstretched like claws as its wings flared out to their full span.

  “Once we begin,” it claimed as the wing turbines whined idly, “I will hunt down every last one of your pathetic copies and finish you off properly. There will not be a third fight.”

  “Oh yeah?” Henry grinned, realizing that the number of clones he had active currently was still unknown to them. “Good luck with that, then.”

  He unsheathed his knife and pulled the revolver out from behind his back. Sure, it was empty right now… but they didn’t need to know that.

  “Ready?” He called out to his opponent, shifting into a ready stance of his own.

  “Ready.”

  Henry took a deep breath, giving a moment to size up his opponent while adrenaline flowed through his system. They slowly circled around each other, both of them waiting for the right moment to strike.

  The Harpy sprang into action first. Henry dashed forward immediately after.

  As he took his first step, however, something unexpected happened to them both.

  The concrete rippled beneath their feet like water, causing them both to sink knee-deep into the stone before it re-solidified, trapping them both within concrete overshoes.

  “What the?!” Both of them shouted in alarm simultaneously.

  “ ‘Oley shet, I got that bloke from earlier, guys!”

  From one of the side alleyways, one of the Gentleman’s Club thugs held what looked like a dead-man's switch with a bunch of Earth Domain crystals duct taped to it in his hand, clearly excited at neutralizing the intruder. Eagerly, he ran out into the street to inspect his catch closer, not aware of who else he had caught in the radius as he radioed in his successful ambush.

  “I told you lot the pit trap would work eventually! Get over ‘ere and see what I’s-”

  He ground to a halt as he looked up. The Harpy gaze bore directly into the skull between his eyes, giving him a glare that could split atoms. Henry watched on, bemused.

  “I… Oh God, what ‘ave I done?!”

  Sure, their little duel had been completely spoiled, but he’d take deflecting hostilities over untimely demise any day of the week.