I could not really understand humans, so I observed them. I also watched my kind. I grew to hate them both even more. I hated the Loyal for throwing away their precious gifts. I hated the Fallen for our stupid pride. I was furious at the Creator because He had been right all along, and I had been stupid, but He would no longer hear my words. So I wandered the Earth, angry.

Then one day I found something.

* * *

Kurst was rather enjoying himself.

“Did you really think it would be that easy, Franks?” he asked as he ducked under a swing that whistled through the air where his face had been. “You know the quality of body that I require. You should, since you stole my first one and ruined my second.”

Franks had always been taciturn, even in the before time, so it wasn’t surprising that he was too focused on killing Kurst to have a conversation about their shared past. He just kept whipping the table leg about in his typical, unimaginative fashion. Kurst effortlessly raised one hand and caught the descending weapon. It hit his palm with a resounding smack, glorious pain descended down his arm, but then his fingers locked around the improvised club like a vise.

Franks scowled as he struggled to wrench the table leg free. He hadn’t expected that.

The Nemesis body had been thoroughly tested. It was based on Dippel’s original design, but it was better in every way. Franks might have had a few hundred years of freedom in his stolen mass of corpse chunks, but in the end it was Kurst who had received the superior form. “The humans made a few improvements since last time.” Kurst yanked the club from Franks’ hands and swatted him across the room with it.

Franks crashed into the far wall. Kurst was on him before he could get up. He smashed Franks over the back, splintering wood and bone. The leg broke in half on the second hit. Kurst dropped it to the floor with a clatter, took hold of Franks’ suit coat, hoisted him off the ground, and flung him into another wall. Franks bounced off and landed facedown in a pile of broken glass.

“Our exile has ended. I will reclaim our birthright.” Kurst followed, his shoes crunching through the glass. “What was not given will be taken.” He grasped a handful of Franks’ collar and dragged him up. “You should have stayed with us.” There was a bloom of fire in his abdomen. Franks jerked his hand away, leaving behind a large shard of glass jammed deep into Kurst’s stomach. Blood spilled out around the red glass. Franks punched the shard of glass, shattering it into a hundred razor pieces inside Kurst’s guts. He could feel the heat of every separate wound channel. Franks struck that spot again, spreading the slicing bits even deeper.