Saito sprinted through an open doorway and slid to a halt. His stolen sword lay on the ground, unguarded. He crouched to retrieve it.

From across the room, Oliver giggled. It was an insidious, chilling sound.

"Hello, sir," the small boy said, a mischievous smile on his face. "Glad you found me. Now we can play."

Saito approached Oliver slowly, unsheathing his swords in dual elegant arcs, all the while keeping his eyes on the devious child. He looked small and frail, but Saito knew from many past experiences that it was never safe nor wise to judge a foe by appearance. The opponents that seemed the least threatening usually used that very fact to purposely lure their challenger into a false sense of security.

“Do you have no self respect?” Saito asked in a low voice. “Can you not think and act for yourself? Why do you obey a woman such as West?”

“Because she is my Madam,” Oliver replied simply. His tiny shoulders bobbed in a blasé shrug. “She saved me from the orphanage. She modified me to stay young and nimble forever. She made me the leader of her Junior Spies. I owe her everything. She orders, and I take action.”

“You are weak,” Saito informed him, walking closer still. “You remind me of the ninja who killed my parents. They had such potential but no will of their own. Just like you.”

Oliver’s eyebrow twitched. “Weak, am I? That's not very nice, sir. Why don’t I show you how weak I am?”

The challenge was clear, and Saito leapt high above the tiny boy with such speed that to an ordinary person it would have looked like he vanished.

Oliver was unfazed. He looked up, smiling at Saito, and made a shoving motion in the air with his hand. Saito immediately flew backward, hitting the wall behind him and falling to the floor with a thud.

"More body mods," Oliver giggled. "Gifts from Madam West."

Saito lifted his head from the floor and shook it side to side. “The boy is telekinetic,” he said, laughter in his voice as he got to his feet. From across the room, Oliver continued to smile at him. “This may be enjoyable after all.”

¤ ¤ ¤

Separated from her comrades in another wing of the palace, Ava-1 stood in a face-off with the beautiful countenance of Dorian Gray. He gazed at her from across the lengthy room, a smug smile on his perfect lips.

“Love the elevated ceilings. Is this your booby-trapped lair?” Ava-1 asked. “Do you have all kinds of dastardly plans for me?”

“Don’t be silly,” Dorian said with a careless wave of his hand. “I just thought we could spend a little time alone together before one of us dies. Oh, and just to clear up any confusion, that one will be you.”

Ava-1 laughed. She couldn’t help it. “A man has never beaten me in a fight,” she told him, her tone matter-of-fact. “And you don’t even appear to be armed. How, exactly, are you going to kill me?”

“I don’t need a weapon to be armed,” Dorian said. He teetered, obviously enjoying his own cryptic choice of words. “And I’m just curious: exactly what parts of your body are still flesh and blood?”

Ava-1 smirked. “I guess you’ll never know, will you? Stop stalling, Casanova. Or do you like it when the woman makes the first move?”

“Be my guest,” Dorian said, holding his arms wide. He closed his eyes and waited.

Well, this is definitely a trap, Ava-1 thought. Figures. But it doesn't matter. I have to see what he’s capable of.

Ava-1 hauled back with her left arm, thrusting her palm forward, aimed straight for Dorian’s chest. The electrical charge that shot from her hand was rapid and high voltage. As it connected with Dorian’s body half a second later, it fizzled and disappeared. As if it had been absorbed.

Dorian laughed, unfazed. "No weapon or ugliness can harm or taint this perfection," he announced, motioning to his body and face. "Rather, it fuels my alter ego."

"Speak in riddles much?" Ava-1 deadpanned.

Dorian neglected to answer. Instead, he began to grow. And grow. In every way he grew: height, width, bulk, and muscle mass. When the incomprehensible growth spurt ceased at last, Ava-1 calculated that he weighed roughly seven hundred pounds. He was eight feet tall, and a solid mass of bulging muscle. A hulk.

The hulk that was Dorian grinned down at the now pint-sized Ava-1 with his square yellow teeth.

“Nice trick,” Ava-1 said with some satisfaction. "Not what I expected."

Dorian struck the marble floor with the two concrete blocks that now served as his fists. “Wait. There is more,” he declared, his voice now low, growling, and staggered, as though his body growth had caused his IQ to plummet. “I. Am. Invincible. My body…no harm…can be done. I crush you now.”

“We’ll see,” Ava-1 said.

¤ ¤ ¤

Saito picked himself up off the floor once more. Oliver had been able to stop his attacks five times now, yet he continued without frustration. He calmly wiped away the blood trickling from his lip like it was water.

Oliver giggled. "Please, sir, I want some more," he taunted.

"I have plenty more to give," Saito promised. "No need to be greedy."

“You can’t defeat a person you can’t touch,” Oliver reasoned. “You’re a great samurai; I can see that. But hand to hand combat only works when both competitors fight hand to hand.”

“I’m just warming up,” Saito murmured, his tone serene rather than haughty. “You have some interesting skills. I’m sure you don’t get to use them often. I’m happy to help you practice.”

For the first time since Saito had run into the room, Oliver’s smile faltered. “Why, you—!” he began. He composed himself and started again. “You’re a pompous ass, you know that? Sir? I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

He thrust out his hands again, sending Saito back into the wall with staggering force. Arms splayed to his sides, the samurai fell to the floor with a thud.

“You see?” Oliver cried in glee. “You can’t—”

But he was too quick to give himself an egotistical victory to notice the swift and subtle motion of Saito grabbing a hidden throwing star from the folds of his kimono and letting it soar. It landed in Oliver’s thigh with a sickening thwack.

Oliver screamed. “You great bloody prat!”

Grimacing, he pulled the throwing star from his leg, and, using telekinesis rather than physical strength, he flung the pointed star back at his adversary.

Saito held his forearm up and the star deflected off of it instead of striking his face. Blood seeped through his loose kimono sleeve and down onto the floor.

“Ha!” Oliver cried in victory. “Whatever you throw at me, I can throw back! Don’t you see? You’ll never win.”

Saito stared at Oliver, unblinking. He held his bleeding arm out toward the boy. “Does this little scratch on my arm make you happy?” he asked. He gave Oliver a quizzical look. “You’re easily pleased.”

Oliver was stunned into silence. Never had an opponent showed him so much nerve this far into a battle.

Saito took the momentary lapse of action as opportunity and sprung forward. Oliver had just enough time to swing his arm and fling the sword out of Saito's hand. But Saito landed a swift swinging Kenpo kick across Oliver’s fragile chest that sent him reeling head over heels. He landed face first on the floor.

As Oliver stumbled into a stance, bleeding from his nose, Saito retrieved and tossed the throwing star. It struck Oliver in the back between his shoulder blades. Bright red blood seeped from the wound like a gruesome leaky pipe.

Oliver groaned and whined.

“Are you finished?” Saito asked politely. He had his katana in hand once more, and was now mere feet from the boy. “Or shall we have more of this?”

Oliver rounded on him, his teeth bared and fists clenched. He stomped his foot on the floor in true childish fashion. “Don’t think for one second that you’ve won,” he seethed. “I have the power, by Madam West, to end you. And so I will.”

With a grand sweeping motion, Oliver stole the katana from Saito's grip, sent the blade zooming around the room to pick up speed, and hurled it at Saito with all his strength.

Saito, who stood poised for the attack immediately next to Oliver, grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him close.

The flying katana plunged into Oliver’s chest.

Saito released him, and Oliver collapsed to the floor, open mouthed and bleeding.

"But I..." Oliver whimpered. "I can't be killed."

"You killed yourself," Saito said.

As the life departed the little boy's eyes, Saito gently closed the delicate lids and slowly eased his katana from Oliver’s unmoving body.

"Sayonara," Saito whispered in farewell. “Thank you for the dance.”

He sheathed his swords, then hurried from the room in search of West.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎