He’d been a mass of large faces, thin arms, and large claws. Everything about reach and perception. Or I was assuming the extra faces were for perception. It was possible it was the equivalent of a man in the jungle wearing a mask on the back of his head to confuse the tigers that wanted to pounce on him from behind.

He’d improved over the last little while. I could remember him being limited to forms. He’d spent time with Marquis, hadn’t he? And Marquis was a top tier changer, with inventive, by-the-moment adaptations.

Lord of Loss seemed intent on taking a few lessons from that playbook. I kept a wary eye out. This was brute-against-brute standard playbook, unfortunately.

I raised my voice. “They tore people to pieces and those pieces are still alive! They took pieces so those people can’t even be put back together!”

“You pulverized Valefor’s jaw,” Lord of Loss said.

“If you don’t see the distinction between Valefor and a plucky band of heroes who made it their life’s mission to stop human trafficking, then something’s really fucking wrong with you, Lord of Loss.”

“I think there are lines,” Lord of Loss said, as he dissolved into more narrow lengths. Two claws with morasses of white strips joining them to his main body gripped the house to hold him aloft. “Between Valefor and those heroes, yes. But playing fair and destroying others? That’s a clear line too.”

“He’s a monster, Loss, and if that’s what you think, why the fuck are you helping people who butchered heroes? They crossed your line!”

“My line gets drawn when I’m hired,” he said. “I can’t quit a job partway through. I’ll consider things after.”

“The damage is being done now! They’ll use that weapon or power again!”

“You think,” he said.

I grit my teeth.

I saw the silver blades appear. Precipice’s power—slicing through the air, to cut at the thickest portion of Lord of Loss’s supports.

I flew, maximum speed, to capitalize on it before the opportunity was lost. Precipice had to have decided to do it to capitalize on Lord of Loss being distracted with conversation.

Lengths of Lord of Loss’s mummy-wrapped-in-iron-bandages form extended out, encasing the parts that had been marked out with silver lines. External support.

A clawed extremity reached my way. I slammed into the palm, hoping to throw him off enough that the silver would snap and the limbs would give way.

No effect. He didn’t topple. Clawed digits of a hand larger than I was closed in around me. I spun, relying on the spinning force combined with the reach of the Wretch to ensure I had enough of a gap to get out.

He laughed.