No escape for the wicked
Before I can finish my train of thought, Azrael launches himself in my direction, his hands outstretched, body shifting from one form to the next with a seamless ease. At first a boy, then a monster, each one and the same, yet entirely different.
"I may not be able to hurt you," he snarls, swiping empty air at the space that I once was. In my dizzying confidence, I flick him the finger as I dance around the room, still marvelling over the fact that he has not yet noticed Soren's absence from his spot on the floor. What an idiot.