"That sounds like a great deal, but there's three problems," Kylar said. He smiled."First I'm not Kylar." He laughed, and his face morphed into one leaner, pock-marked, with a wispy blond beard. He was Durzo Blint. "Second, that corpse isn't Durzo."

"What?"

"Third," he continued, "if someone would move his ass..." He cleared his throat.

Neph turned belatedly. In a smooth motion, the corpse stood - and was Kylar. Shields flew up around the Vürdmeister.

Skin sheathed in black metal, face covered by the mask of Judgment, Curoch sliding out of his fists as white-hot claws, Kylar punched. The Vürdmeister's shields popped like soap bubbles. Claws of Curoch crossed on either side of the Vürdmeister's spine, eight bloody points poking out of his back. "Third, I'm not dead," Kylar said, lifting Neph off the ground. "And this is Curoch."

"Shit, that's four things, isn't it?" Durzo said.

The perfect killer has no freinds, only targets.

The perfect killer has no idenitity, but many faces.

The perfect killer has no conscience, just objects.

Annons

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February 2010