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 Way of the Warrior  (20 ratings)by Igor Raffaele Page 10 of 10 He is fast, very fast, but my initial assault knocks the breath out of him, which is an advantage I can definitely use. No one ever survived an attack from one of these mysterious assassins, but I guess that on the other hand no one ever trained them for interference by steel clad grouchy and obsessed old men. Should I give him the chance to recover from his intial surprise, I'd be dead before I can realize what my mistake was, so I furiously keep on hammering at him, with my fists and energy blades kicking up sparks every time they hit a wall. There is no finesse in the ugly little fight, and the frenzied motion it ends abruptly when my adversary stumbles across one of the whores' bodies. My drugs enhanced reflexes make me unconsciously drive my elbow into his face, exploiting the temporary gap in his defense as he tries to regain balance. His head rolls to the floor, a drop of blood drops to the floor a light year below, and his body sags on top of it a few heartbeats later. As I gradually return to normal time, it takes a few seconds to cool down after the assasin hits the ground. The adrenaline gradually seeps away from my brain and spine and I can start to think again. Slowly the carnage in fades in on my senses, the bodies strewn across the hallway in the obscene abandon of death, blood seeping from the punctures the assassin's needle guns tore through people like so much meat. Some of the nine inch long needles are stuck in the wall beyond their intended target, and a trickle of blood flows from each, showing that not one missed. I realize how lucky I have been when I take a good look at the disfigured corpse laying at my feet. He is wearing armour plates on chest, arms and legs, all under a stealth suit. The faint silver wiring of a very advanced body augmentation system is embedded just under the dead assassin's skin. He definitely came prepared for a good fight. I definitely lucked out. Finally I turn to Jokonosa, after allowing my anger to subside. The old man is still grovelling on the floor, recovering from the shock. He looks up a few seconds after all motion stops, and gets up when nothing comes at him screaming death in his name. Immediatly he comes fawning to me, his usually honeyed voice grating on my nerves considerably more than ever before. "Oh, Sir Knight, I knew I could count on you to stop that monster, how can I ever thank you..." I lose my patience with him, pick him up by his neck with my gauntleted fist, and slam him against the wall. I look at him steadily for a while before speaking, and I can see the self-control he managed to master quickly ooze away from his face. "You will be punished for your crimes one day. This is just not that day, and the Demon Shadow not your executioner. Know that these men, and the widows and orphans they left in this world, have been added to the list of crimes you will pay for." I have nothing more to tell him, so I drop him, and leave him trembling and slumped against the wall as I start the walk back to my hovercar. I know I should be going back home and sleep. Tomorrow will be another full day, like every single merciless one in this endless succession, and I'll have to take care of that illegal organ farm soon. On my way back, I stop anyway on the edge of one of the platforms, and walk until I cannot see the dirty ground in front of my feet anymore. The wind from the air currents buffets me, trying to playfully pull me over into the void below, and I watch. I watch the lights moving, and flashing, and sometimes going out forever, and I think of the people they represent. They are my charge, and it is my duty to give them hope, and a chance to choose for themselves in their own life. It is on nights like this that I ask myself that timeless question, and I wonder who rules the night. I never even consider myself a candidate for the position, nor do I care who wins the bloody election; I leave that petty squabbling to others, blind and content with their power struggles, empty and vain as they are. I know, with the self assurance that would make any hero name me and evil villain, that it does not really matter who rules the night; sooner or later, kings and vagabonds, mortals and wannabe gods alike, they all bend their knee and bow their heads to Justice. To Death. To me.
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