“Amazing how the universe works, isn’t it?” The man lifted both hands up to the sky. He opened his mouth and turned his head, gathering up some of the drifting rain before spitting it out. “Everything comes right back around, wouldn’t you say?”

Cole stepped forward, remembering what Penny said about buck-blade fights being no time for talk. He slashed an angle one at the man’s knee, keeping low to remain as defensive as possible. The man’s arm became a blur: one moment lifted up into the rain, the next moment down by his hips, repulsing Cole’s attack. Cole’s arm flew back, his body contorting with the sudden change in direction. He allowed his feet to come out from beneath him, preferring to spin down into the water than get wrapped up in his own rebound.

Once again, he struggled to his feet, blade out. The small man became a blur once more, and Cole felt a sting on his left shoulder. He flinched, but his reaction came long after the blow. He looked down to see a red stain spreading through his soaked shirt, a neat slice of the fabric folded open.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Cole looked up from his wound. The man across from him jutted out his chin; he brought up his free hand and placed his palm against the side of his own face, pulling his flesh sideways. “Perhaps if I were smeared across a taxi’s windshield, it would jar your pathetic, fleshy, memory.” He let go of his face and sneered at Cole, rain dripping from his nose.

Cole ignored him—ignored the man’s mad delusions. He shuffled forward and aimed a reverse angle two at the man’s off-weapon hip. He drove everything into the blow, unleashing the full fury of his mechanical elbow in a desperate attempt to drive through the man’s defenses, striking him down as he made the mistake of talking.

His hand whistled through the wet air. As did the other man’s. The invisible blades met with a sizzling, explosive crack, the force of the blow throwing Cole off his feet. He landed in the water one final time, his shoulder screaming out in pain from withstanding the force of impact. He rolled to his back, half expecting to be missing a limb from the rebound, but his sword hand was empty. The blow had been sufficient to rip it from his artificial grasp, possibly saving his life in the process. Or—as Penny had warned of ever letting his weapon go—at least delaying the inevitable.

Cole turned to face the small man and saw that his eyes were follow-ing something through the air. He smiled, and Cole heard a plop in the distance, like the sound of a stone being swallowed by water. Cole looked around, but all that was left of his sword was a spread of brown ripples.