Another storm. Another battle.

Nothing ever changes.

We stood on the wide plain, with the mountains rising up behind us, the city glittering in the distance in front of us. The sky unleashed a torrent of rain. I blinked the water from my eyes, feeling droplets trail down my bare arms. I shuddered, clutching the handle of my sword tighter. Then I was tensed, preparing for the fight – possibly to the death.

My older brother, Damon, stood to my left, holding forward his shining, curved blade as we waited for the attack. He knew better than to stand too close to me; then it would be obvious that he wanted to protect me, his little sister. And he knew I would hate that.

“It’s a good thing you sensed them when you did, Ismene,” Damon murmured.

Our friends, Ismene and Zephyr, were standing to my right, their swords also at the ready. Ismene nodded in response to what Damon had said. She had warned us, minutes before, that the Destroyers were coming. It was her ability: to read thoughts and emotions, and to sense changes in the environment. Now she squinted forward, wet strands of her golden hair hanging in her face. Zephyr stood beside her, following her gaze. As usual, his face was still and impassive, like it had been carved out of stone, and his dark blue eyes were dull with dread.

I shifted my attention forward, watching the small group of Destroyers that was coming towards us.

Destroyers. At the very thought of the word, my blood boiled with instinctive hatred. At the start of the Immortal world, thousands of years ago, there had been no such thing as Protectors or Destroyers; all Immortals had lived in peace. Then, as time wore on, some of the Immortals had chosen to use their powers to protect and help Mortals, while others had chosen to destroy and to victimize Mortals. Thus, the war had begun. All of us Immortals had fought in our original forms, and the separation between Protectors and Destroyers had come into being.

Today, the war continued in was a never-ending cycle. Whenever Immortals died in battle, their souls were Reborn in new human forms, and once their transformations were complete, they came back to fight again. There were thousands of groups of Immortals, located in different places all over the world, but they fought for the same reason: to avenge the deaths of those who had been lost … and because they – because we – had never known another purpose.

The approaching Destroyers consisted of the usual bunch: Nyx, Mot, Echo, Seth. No one we couldn’t handle. No one we hadn’t taken on before. Except…

“Who’s that?” Zephyr murmured, speaking the question that was suddenly on all of our minds.

Someone new was walking confidently at the front of the group. Without being able to see the details of her face, I could tell she was female. She was short and pale-skinned. The heavy rain had plastered her dark brown hair around her face. Just by observing the way she walked, I felt intimidated.

The new girl – whoever she was – was strong and fearless. She was a real threat.

Ismene tilted her head as she watched the girl, as if she could hear a peculiar noise that no one else could hear. By the look of concentration on her face, I could tell that she was reaching out with her mind, testing the girl’s aura.

“She’s powerful,” Ismene told us, suddenly looking concerned. “There – There’s something odd about her. Something totally wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Damon asked
Ismene only shook her head, her hazel eyes narrowing. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what it is.”

“They’re getting close now,” Zephyr reminded us, ending the discussion. “Get ready.”

Jagged lightning split the sky, and a roll of thunder trembled in the ground beneath our feet. The rain continued to fall down heavily, creating a curtain between the Destroyers and us.

“I’ll take on the new girl,” Damon offered.

Zephyr nodded; there was no time for disagreements. “I can fight Nyx,” he said.

“I’ll take Echo and Seth,” Ismene said instantly.

I sighed. “I guess that leaves me with Mot,” I muttered.

As usual, I had ended up with the weakest of the Destroyers. Mot was a few inches shorter than me. Although he was strong for his height, I was stronger. I probably could have killed him many times over, but that just wasn’t my nature.

“Kami,” Damon said quietly, startling me. “Is something wrong?”

I looked up at him. Even though his eyes – the same, plain brown shade as my own – were partly obscured by his soaked, chestnut hair, I could see that they were dark with concern.

“I’m fine,” I answered, a bit dazed. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You look … uneasy.”

I shrugged, my eyes shying away from his. I didn’t know how to respond. As usual, my brother was right: I was scared. I didn’t know why, considering I had been through hundreds of battles before. For some reason, I had a bad feeling about this one. There seemed to be an inexplicable tension hanging over all of us.

A foreboding sensation shivered up and down my spine, making goosebumps rise on my arms, but I managed to sound calm as I answered, “Why shouldn’t I be scared? For all I know, this could be …” I trailed off. This could be the last one. This could be the one where I die. I didn’t finish the sentence out loud – speaking about death before a battle was bad luck.

Damon stiffened, but he nodded in grim agreement. “I know.” He looked away, sighing. “Don’t be worried, Kami. It’s not like it’s ever going to end. There will always be more.”

Although, at the moment, I didn’t had time to take in his words, something about them startled me. There was an ominous undertone to them that sent a jolt of fear through my veins. I would have asked Damon what he meant, but no one had time to say anything else after that, because the fight had already begun.
Both groups rushed towards each other, weapons held high. I pushed everyone else out of my mind, and I concentrated on Mot. He saw me coming at him, and his ice-blue eyes focused on me. His arms tensed, and a second later, our blades met with a loud clang.

“You again,” he grunted.

I smirked. “Did you miss me?” I snarled, leaning forward. I pressed my sword against his until I forced him to take a step back.

“Not really,” Mot answered unenthusiastically, as his blade swung at me again. It didn’t even come close to touching me before I blocked it.

We fought, forcing each other back and forth across the field. The clashes and clangs and cries of fury accompanied the constant hiss of rainfall on the grass and the crackle of thunder. I concentrated on every small movement, every step I took, every move I made. I panicked every time the soles of my boots slipped on the slick ground, but I managed to keep my footing. Rain pelted me, running into my eyes and trickling down the back of my neck. My clothes clung to me heavily, making it difficult to move. I felt hot and cold at the same time; as heat radiated from my skin, it was instantly cooled by the falling rain. My arms were on fire from bearing the staggering weight of my sword. Every time my blade struck Mot’s, the jolt from the impact shuddered through my whole body, making my very bones quake. I kept my eyes fixed on his, watching for any change: any betrayal of his next move. I lost myself in the thrill of the battle, in the mad rush of adrenaline, a feeling that I simultaneously loved and loathed. As dangerous and as tiring as it was, I lived for it.

“Not bad for a girl,” Mot snorted. He really shouldn’t have said that.

Rage fired through my veins. An almost inhuman shriek came out of me as I rushed towards him. Startled, he swung his sword at me again.

It was a mistake. I ducked, letting the weight of my sword pull me to my knees. The fabric of my leggings slid against the grass – I felt a cold rush of panic, wondering if I had made a wrong move. But I pushed aside the hesitation and found my balance. I didn’t have time to look back, but I figured that Mot must have still been stumbling from the momentum of his miscalculated swing. Taking the risk, I swept my sword in a backward arc. The joints in my right shoulder burned, screaming with exhaustion, but I managed to whack Mot behind the knees with the flat of my blade. He fell to his knees, dropping his weapon in surprise. I jumped to my feet, as Mot struggled to sit up. As soon as he had made it to a kneeling position, I pointed my sword at his throat.

Mot looked up at me, frozen, terror in his eyes. I glared back at him, breathing hard. The desperate relief of victory made me feel dizzy, but I kept a calm expression onto my face. After a few seconds, Mot forced himself to chuckle. The result wasn’t effective or believable. “You – You’re not really going to kill me, are you?” He meant to make it sound like a joke, but I knew that his fear was genuine.

I smirked in amusement and triumph as I raised my weapon. Mot flinched, expecting to lose his head in a few seconds. Fortunately for him, it was only the flat of the sword that made contact with his skull, knocking him out cold.

“Maybe someday, Mot,” I said in mock apology, as he crumpled to the ground. “But not today.”

I sighed, briefly caught up in my small victory. Soon, I remembered that the others probably needed my help, and I dismissed my moment of pride. I glanced down at Mot one more time, then I turned around.

Nyx was weakening, her arms straining as Zephyr pressed his blade harder against hers. Ismene was struggling as she fought both Echo and Seth. Whenever she was engaged in battle with one of them, the other would come rushing at her from behind, and she would have to whirl around again. Because of her mind-reading abilities, she could not be taken by surprise, but I could tell she was getting exhausted.

I took a step forward to help her, but – without even looking at me – she cried out in protest. “Kami, no! I can handle them! Help Damon!”

I still felt nervous for Ismene, but I looked around until I found my brother. He was fighting with the mysterious girl, who – I had to admit to myself – was terrifying. She fought so naturally, so passionately. Her screams of rage made my blood run cold, and each stroke of her sword was swift and deadly.

Damon fought well. His blade met hers with equal intensity. Their weapons collided with such force that sparks probably would have flown from the impact, if it hadn’t been raining.

With a shock, I could see that Damon had been hurt. The side of his shirt was torn; his silver blood streamed out from the gash. I hissed in my breath in alarm, and I felt my stomach twist with concern.

I needed to help him. I could feel my hands tighten around the handle of my sword in determination. But for some reason, I found myself unable to move and staring in horror. I felt as if I were detached from the whole scene; I was watching from a distance, from another world.

Forever, I would have to live with the unbearable knowledge: if I hadn’t wasted those precious seconds, I would have stopped the tragedy that would change my life.

Damon weakened. The next time the girl’s sword clashed against his own, his blade fell from his hand, landing in the grass. He and I both watched it fall with horror.

“Damon!” I cried, snapping out of my trance. I stumbled forward, even as I realized that I wouldn’t reach them in time.

Damon looked up at the girl. I saw terror, then confusion, then shock in his eyes. I saw his lips move slightly; later on, I would realize that it was the last thing he ever said: a single, familiar name.

I froze in confusion. Why was Damon looking at the girl like that? And why wouldn’t he move?

In that moment, in which I hesitated, the girl drove her sword through my brother’s chest.

My breath caught. I tried to comprehend what I was seeing, but it was impossible. A painful and indescribable feeling ripped through me, making me weak at the knees. It felt like the world had disappeared under my feet, like reality had plunged into a nightmare. “No!” I screamed, even though it was too late for me to do anything. “Damon! No!”

My brother stared at the girl, as the last seconds of his life fell away. Then a glazed look came into his eyes, and he collapsed onto the soaking wet grass. Without wasting a moment, the girl leaned over, heartlessly wrenching her blade out of him.

I heard an awful wail. It rang in my ears, somehow clear above the raging of the storm. There was nothing else in the world but that one, agonized scream, which, I realized, was coming from me.

A red haze of hatred swam at the corners of my tear-filled vision. I ran towards the girl: my brother’s killer. My arms shook as I raised my sword; my muscles were weak from the fighting I had already done. But I didn’t care; nothing would stop me from killing the demonic girl.

Before I could slay her, she whirled around. Her weapon lashed out to meet mine. I was breathing hard, sobbing, as I came face-to-face with her, staring at her from behind our crossed blades. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Damon lying motionless and bleeding on the ground, and my head reeled. I tried to hold onto the blind hope that he was still alive, but in my heart, I knew he was dead. My brother, dead … gone …

Then I looked at the girl’s face, and I saw it – really saw it, for the first time – and stopped breathing. I knew that face almost as well as my own: from the pale, unflawed skin, to the flashing golden eyes, the small nose, and the red lips. Although some things had changed significantly: for instance, her face was scarred from below her eye to her jaw, and her grin was disturbingly sinister. But I couldn’t deny who she was.

I felt the awful tightening feeling in my chest, as recognition struck me. “Clio,” I breathed, feeling faint.

“Kami,” she said – just my name, but she spoke it with heartfelt bitterness. And it hurt more than any physical wound I had ever suffered.

“But –” I choked. “You’re …”

Her eyes narrowed, as if she were challenging me to say the words: the words that evidently weren’t true.

I gaped at Clio, not understanding. Reality no longer seemed to exist. My brother was dead, and Clio had killed him. And Clio … but Clio was …

“Destroyers! Retreat!” Clio cried out, her eyes still locked with mine. Then she backed away.

Nyx stumbled from Zephyr. Echo and Seth ran from Ismene, and went to go help Mot, when they saw that he was starting to stir on the ground.

Meanwhile, Clio took a step closer to me. I wanted to cringe away, but I couldn’t. I was still waiting to wake up, to find out that this wasn’t real. Clio hissed into my ear, so that only I could hear: “This isn’t over.”

I shuddered, and then took deep, shaking breaths. With a rush of grief, I remembered, and finally understood, the last thing Damon had ever said to me: “There will always be more.” He had been right: this fight was never going to end – especially not now.

Clio stepped back again, glaring at me one more time. Numb with shock, I didn’t move to stop her. She turned and started running. The other Destroyers were already ahead of her: Nyx was at the lead, and Seth was close behind. Echo was helping Mot, holding onto his arm as he staggered forward dizzily.

As they retreated, I realized that the rain had stopped. The air was thick and heavy in the heat of the summer evening. A miserable fog had settled over the distant city, so that its lights were barely visible. The Destroyers headed towards it, becoming shapeless shadows as they faded into the mist.

Ismene was screaming. She kneeled next to Damon’s lifeless body, crying out his name over and over. She pressed her hands against the wound in his chest, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. His blood ran out from between Ismene’s fingers, and his eyes remained opened and glassy. He was already gone.

Zephyr stood still and silent as always, as he stared down at his fallen friend. Ismene’s screaming changed into anguished sobbing. The sight was too overwhelming; I looked up, watching the Destroyers run away until they were lost in the fog. I could hear my own rattling breaths, and I could feel the warmth of tears on my face, mixing with the raindrops that still lingered there.

My mind processed the horrifying facts:

My brother’s killer was Clio: my younger sister.

Clio, whom I hadn’t seen for the past one hundred years … because she was dead.