Sixes on the NPD’s human-deviant scale were rare enough; perhaps one tenth of one percent of the global population. Maybe less. Joshua knew, in an abstract faction, that he squarely fit into the Level Six category, as did most deviants he encountered. More rare were sevens—beings with extraordinary strength or power that eclipsed even the rarity of sixes. When Thud advised him to look out for the seven, Joshua guessed this enormous beast with the tusks was what he meant.
The deviant continued snarling as Joshua’s windpipe sealed shut beneath one hairy fist. It hurt, to be sure, but this seven didn’t know all of Joshua’s secrets.
Joshua forced a smile so his opponent could see it. Not needing to breathe had many advantages and this scenario happened to be one of them. He twirled the sword so its tip reversed, pointing down now like a stabbing dagger. He raised it high and aimed it at the deviant’s face, who looked comically shocked that his victim hadn’t passed out or died in his hand
