Cimerus watched the muscular shadow drag the unconscious Seeker into a corner until his job was done. The Shadowlings circled the peripherals of the station, keeping out of the way of him and that figure.

"I'm curious."

His presence was clearly unexpected. Despite that, the shadow appeared unfazed. He straightened, facing Cimerus. Cimerus had to give credit to that calm demeanour – but then, given the audience, it was to be expected.

"Your goal was never Lilitha, so why go through all this rigmarole?"

"How does what I do benefit you, Shifter?" There was a slight sneer in that deep voice.

"It just seems like an awful lot of effort for a Sentinel to go through. If they stood in your way of the Artefact you could have just killed them all."

By the silence that followed, Cimerus's suspicions were confirmed. The Artefact was indeed in this realm. He didn't expect the Sentinel to give him an honest answer. They were far too sly.

And why would he keep such a low profile? Humans are of no significance.

Azyazel was merely on the other side of the veil; he could come at a beckon, but Cimerus didn't want to break up the party just yet.

"You're no mere Sentinel, though." He was anything but. To be in possession of Lyre technology, he had to be in one of the upper commanding levels. That meant he wouldn't be operating alone now that he was aware of the Shifters' presence.

"I come only for the Artefact. I intend to keep this world as intact and peaceful as possible."

Cimerus let out a laugh that echoed in the empty station.

"Like a true Sentinel – rewriting history when it suits you! I'm sure you were long borne after your kind exterminated the Lyres and stole their weaponry. That weapon in your hand is the very evidence of that."

The Sentinel said nothing, and instead stared at the glass ceiling. The stars of the night stared back down. The Shadowlings floated above, searching for more souls to feed on.

"You didn't want us to know, did you?"

The Sentinel said nothing, but Cimerus knew he'd hit the nail on the head.

"You kept a low profile because you didn't want the other realms know the Sentinels have found the Artefact – that's why you've kept this mission covert. You could do your research, see how you can break into wherever these little humans have hidden the toy, and have someone at your back. That's why you kept those little things hanging about."

The area was silent except for the whispering as the Shadowlings passed overhead.

"Personally I'd have killed them. Nothing but useless pawns."

"In this world, Shifter, pawns can kill queens."

A smile crept across Cimerus's face. "She won't come, you know."

The Sentinel lifted his head. Brown eyes gleamed in the darkness, the only part of him that was visible.

"Tora? Oh, she'll come, she'll come."

Surely not even a Sentinel could grow human sentimentality, thought Cimerus, puzzled by the confidence.

"She's grown into exactly what I want her to be: hot-headed, reckless, compassionate – and so very predictable."

"None of your influences would affect a fully-awakened Shifter."

The small smile irritated Cimerus. It was as if the Sentinel were implying he knew something about Lilitha that Cimerus didn't, and revelled in that advantage.

"Any particular reason you're incapacitating your own comrades if they're such valuable pawns?"

"They shall serve their purpose." There was a hint of triumph in that deep voice.

There had to be a catch somewhere. The artificial rip was to lure Lilitha back, no doubt playing on the human compassion the Sentinel had grown in her for the past two human years. There was more to come.

"You realise how significantly weaker Sentinels are compared to Shifters."

The Sentinel grinned.

"Tora won't be pleased to see one of her own attacking her beloved teammates."

His arrogance irked Cimerus, but he swallowed that sensation. It wasn't just that he was such a useless species; it was coupled by the fact that he was unsupported and unarmed as well.

"Lilitha won't be there to see it."

Public bins rose and hurtled towards the Sentinel. They glanced off him, spinning into the darkness. One of them must have connected with the portal. The chime of shattered glass filled the air. Cimerus darted to the side, aiming for the next attack. The bins bounced about with a few clangs. His eyes adjusted to the moving objects; the Sentinel did not move.

Cimerus appeared behind him in mid-air. One leg shifted until it resembled a horse's, powerful hindquarters included, and a long metallic blade formed along the lower leg, hoof, and ankle. He swung a kick powerful enough to take the head off any demon.

The blade whistled through the air. With a teeth-chattering clang, it connected with a steel shield. The screech of metal on metal shattered the silence. Sparks flew everywhere.

Cimerus propelled himself off before he could be grabbed. He had expected to be met with an offence, not the Sentinel's trademark steel armour. It was just too weak, considering the greater their body surface covered, the thinner their armour became. His skin bubbled, limbs elongating and darkening. The world turned brighter in his eyes, but the colour drained away. His feet narrowed to tips.

He could see why this was Abaddeon's favourite form. Spectres made excellent predators: light, deadly, eyes evolved to hunt down movement and fear, and hard to catch.

His arm shot out, lengthening faster than the human eye could follow. Resembling a spear with a tough-as-diamond tip, Cimerus aimed for the Sentinel's body.

The tip touched skin – Cimerus felt it entering flesh – and then it gave way.

In the next moment, his arm passed through air. The tip scraped across concrete ground, leaving an inch-deep score in its wake.

He was sure that attack hit – it must have. Sentinel armour – or any armour – stood little chance against Spectre attacks.

All of Cimerus's arms extended this time. They took separate routes through the darkness, all the tips sharper than any human blade and tougher than any diamond. Their outlines were impossible to follow with the human eye. The wind generated as the limbs passed blew over signs and banners.

The Sentinel exuded no fear, making Cimerus's Spectre vision less effective. He also only moved his arms, his feet firmly glued to the ground.

The thin arms whistled towards him.

Again, the spears pressed into flesh – and passed into nothing.

Cimerus stared. His six arms had penetrated the Sentinel's personal space, but it was as if Cimerus himself had deliberately weaved his limbs so he'd just missed the Sentinel. There were the tips of his arms, embedded in the ground immediately around the Sentinel's feet.

There was no way this was due to any inherent Sentinel ability. They could do nothing more supernatural than selectively coat their body in armour.

Before he could identify what was off about the Sentinel, a sound like the cleaving of knives hit his ears and he found himself stumbling backwards, rattling through his Spectre throat in agony.

He caught his balance, the tips of his legs balancing, precarious, on the edge of the platform.

Splat. Splat. Splat.

He didn't need to look to know he'd somehow been amputated up to halfway up his forearm. The exposed wounds were freezing when air wafted past. Viscous blood oozed out, splashing thickly onto the floor.

The Shadowlings stared down at him as Cimerus tried to stem his disbelief. He took a deep breath.

"How did I do that, you must be wondering," came the Sentinel's snide voice from the other side. "It must be so confusing that a mere Sentinel could survive a Spectre's attack."

Cimerus shortened his arms until they were tucked by his side again. There was very little left.

"You think I would risk facing a Shifter like Tora without adequate preparation?"

The Sentinel remained unmoving, as if he was hoping for a reply.

Knowing it was only a matter of time before Lilitha arrived, and, on top, his disarmed Spectre form was now useless, Cimerus shifted again. The wounds closed, draining some of his stamina in the process.

His blank white face grew slit-pupilled eyes. A snout protruded from the centre of his head. Razor-sharp teeth sprouted along the inside of his mouth. His body grew ten times in size, swelling along the limbs and abdomen. Wings extended from his shoulder blades, the tips of which knocked more plaques and adverts down. Thick legs thumped on the floor, their black-and-scarlet scales reflecting the light from the small jets of fire that danced from his nostrils with every breath.

One stop crushed one of the bins he'd thrown earlier. A low rumble stirred at the base of his throat. A small flash of light from his breathing highlighted the calm expression on the Sentinel's human face, even when faced with such a large Dracona.

A blast of red-hot flame erupted from Cimerus's mouth. The shaken-up train station lit up in all its glory for a fleeting moment, emphasising the wrecked signs and sliced-off decorations. Fire engulfed the Sentinel in a vicious ball, swirling and getting brighter by the second.

The nearby signs erupted in flames at the heat. Their metal frames melted. The plastic decorations sizzled, throwing a chemical stench in the air. As the flames died away, the ground revealed itself: black as obsidian, its surface cracked like charcoal.

And still the Sentinel stood, watchful.

Cimerus found himself both subtly amused and irritated by the strangeness of this creature. It had been a long time since he'd came across a Sentinel, but he was sure there was nothing about this one that made him so pervasive.

He took off, flapping his wings. A few windows splintered overhead. Gales rushed on the ground, tearing away loose objects lying about and ripping up benches. The Sentinel twitched, but stayed where he was, looking at the large Dracona in front of him. The wind didn't appear to affect him. The brown hair stayed in place. His shirt didn't even ruffle.

Cimerus dived. Golden eyes hyper-focused on the humanoid. Four limbs smashed into the ground, bringing up rubble. A tail thicker than the nearby pillars lashed, uprooting nailed-down chairs and tables and collapsing the escalator. The ground threw up broken bricks and dust.

The tail seemed to hit something immobile. The point of contact came to a stand-still. The segments at either end continue to move until a resounding crack caused Cimerus to screech in pain. The rage burned deep in his belly. He sucked in the remaining air to fully expand his lungs before emptying all the oxygen into a massive scorching explosion.

Blinding light smothered the train station. The Shadowlings scattered, whistling amongst themselves, searching for dark crevices to hide in.

More glass shattered overhead, raining crystal-like shards. They bounced off, harmless, on Cimerus's tough skin. He withdrew his tail until it rested behind him, the tip sitting at right-angles to the shaft thanks to the new kink, the scales turning black.

The smoke cleared away. The Sentinel knelt on the floor. His arms crossed in front of his head, but the plated armour he'd conjured were charred. Pieces fell continuously, exposing raw, bleeding flesh underneath. Clutched in one of his hands was a stout rod of gold with intricate patterns and undecipherable inscriptions along its length. The words, initially shining white, dimmed until they merged with the colour of the rod again.

The pain of Cimerus's broken tail ebbed. He should have expected as much form a Sentinel. There was no way an unarmed one would be so confident in goading a Shifter into attacking it. It was foolish of Cimerus to assume the Sentinel would be unarmed with other Lyre weaponry considering the Veil Cutter he owned. It was so obvious in retrospect – evidently this was how he'd managed to blend in with Lilitha's friends, with his stolen 'ability'.

Cimerus took his chance. Sucking in another breath, he let go a second blast of fire. As he expected, the rod flashed; the inscriptions lit up. A subtle light, barely visible to the sharp Dracona eye, formed in a tight sphere around the humanoid, shielding him from the blaze. Keeping the flames going, Cimerus drew his clawed hand back and swiped at the crouching Sentinel.

He ignored the pain searing through his scales and into his skin. Humanoid flesh connected with his palm. A dark shape flew out of the smoke, soaring over the train tracks, and smacking against the far brick wall. It slid down, a crumpled heap of singed flesh and fractured bones.

Cimerus knew it wasn't over just yet.

The Sentinel might appear dead, but judging by how well he interpreted the situation and manipulated Cimerus against himself, there was more up his sleeve. There was no possibility he would escape with the Veil Cutter, not with at least two adjacent worlds filled with demons around here – perhaps even a third. This was Piricca's territory. He could have brought her along.

The pliable armour fell away in chunks. The coarse surface barely reflected the flickering of fire light. The Sentinel got onto his hands and knees, gasping. Thick bodily fluid oozed through the burns, peeling away the plates. On his right shoulder blade was a glowing golden tattoo. A pair of wings, magnificent like those of Dracona, spread from spine to shoulder tip. Two tails swirled beneath it, intertwining at regular intervals. As Cimerus watched, the bottommost junction disappeared, and the tattoo became dull again.

A layer of translucent goo spread over the burns. In the semi-darkness, the new skin was just about visible. With a few dry cracks, bones snapped back into the correct orientation.

Cimerus flapped his wings, throwing another layer of dust in the air. Powerful back legs propelled his bulky body forward. The Sentinel barely had time to realise what was happening, never mind finish healing, before another fireball swallowed him up.

There was no smell of burned skin. As he thought, the Lyre's rod protected the demon fire magic. The flames slid over a smooth barrier, turning the red brick wall behind him black. The light temporarily lit up the wreckage of the train station, with chunks of concrete littering the rails and ground and stars glittering through the broken windows.

Cimerus's momentum carried him forward. More flames engulfed the Sentinel, but still they poured off him like liquid.

His jaw widening and knife-like teeth gleaming, he snapped his jaw around the Sentinel.

The Sentinel didn't struggle. Blood poured onto his tongue, deliciously metallic and hot. The fire continued to burn in Cimerus's belly. He could afford another blast for good measure, but he wanted to savour it. He would chew up the Sentinel, and then spit out his pathetic, broken suit of armour before swallowing him into his pit of lava-like stomach acid.

Something hotter than lava – not his own – crept over his tongue and the insides of his mouth. It was as if every cell in the front of his head was overheating. Steam hissed from the pores between his scales. His eyes coursed bright orange tears.

What's going on? was his first thought. It must be another Lyre weapon. The Sentinel was giving no chances.

A split second later, his head swelled. His eyes bulged. Scales stretched, the flesh beneath straining to hold themselves together. His tongue grew, stuffing his orifice and obstructing his throat. Pressure rose exponentially.

Sensing his panic, the Shadowlings locked on him and dived.

Cimerus turned into them without a second thought.

There was an earth-shaking boom. The Sentinel, naked from the slow burning inside the Dracona's mouth, fell onto the floor. Pieces of the Dracona's teeth exploded everywhere, passing through Cimerus's new vaporous body and his fellow species. Lava-like saliva dripped onto the floor, sizzling through the concrete.

The Sentinel turned the Dracona's impossibly hot body against itself. Cimerus would rather be slaughtered than admit it, but he was impressed by the Sentinel's quick thinking. His body tingled with fatigue. His time was running short. He shouldn't have become a Shadowling, with its weak attacks and aversion to many man-made things, but it was his first reaction. He could sense the humanoids though; one of them stirred. He could smell his groggy confusion. Too many shifts in too short a time, and time was something he couldn't spare right now.

The tattoo on the Sentinel's back glowed again, but the healing process was slower. His weapons were laid bare now that his armour and clothing had burned away. The Lyre's negation rod was clutched in his scorched left hand and the Veil Cutter in his right. An empty cloth bag lay in front of him, likely the container of his surprise escape.

Floating back onto the platform, Cimerus concentrated and shifted one last time. His gaseous body solidified, becoming smooth, thick-as-leather dark skin. The hood dissolved, elongating to blonde hair. His nasal bridge rose; his chin lengthened until he grinned to show sharp teeth. Powerful muscles covered his arms and legs. A long tail swished behind him.

"You know," said the Sentinel in a smoke-filled, raspy voice, "my people have always said 'one never survives the first view of a Shifter's true self.'"

"Your people spoke correctly." Cimerus's voice was cold. The time for play was up. He was bored.

He picked up the sound slightly earlier than the Sentinel. A grin spread across the Sentinel's bloody face.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Shifter."

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