The thing crouching on Kevin Winnicot's balcony was humanoid, more or less.

It was chalk white, slim and genderless in its nudity, a tapered spike protruding from the back of each elbow. There was a 27 tattooed on its left shoulder, and it was silhouetted against a clear early afternoon sky. The glass slider was open.

It'd been four years since he'd seen an Asura, and never this close. Someone in Ormus was tying up loose ends.

Kevin kept his eyes locked on it and backed away until his legs hit the couch. He dived over the back.

It leapt.