Cain returned to the depths of the dark sedan that brought him to the pawn shop, ruefully regarding the shadowy figure sitting in the seat opposite him. The car lurched into motion and the roar of the powerful engine filled the cabin as the driver sped from the shop. As if on cue, the man spoke to Cain with a tone dripping with unconcealed disdain. His thick English accent and piercing voice cut through to Cain's core. As he began, Cain reflected on the fact that Monitors never spoke to people in his position, but rather at them, as if they were giving orders to a slave or machines.
"A rogue Triumvirate faction has established an informal command structure in a high-society Chinese restaurant and social club north of the city, just outside of Chinatown. This group purports to usurp regional control of the Triumvirate and establish their own business and crime organization as a competing offshoot."
The man's apparent contempt for Cain was evident in his body language. Cain read levels deep beneath the man's persona, turning to regard him. He always surmised that the Monitor regarded him as a dangerous, barbarous tool, a blunt instrument only used when brute and unsophisticated force was required to settle matters of the Triumvirate.
While the Monitors were often viewed as zealous loyalists whose sole purpose is to gather intelligence and report on organizational threats, Cain had little respect for their dual nature. They were well known as schemers and backstabbers. To his kind, they were little more than information brokers without honor.
Cain knew that the Monitor that addressed him now was too intelligent not to retain a healthy fear of terrible living weapons like him. To compensate for this, the Monitor made his intellectual superiority and attitude evident in all his dealings with Triumvirate Swords to maintain dominance over them. Cain turned his gaze to the sallow faced, pale individual in the darkest corner of the sedan, now daring to make direct eye contact with him.
Surprisingly, despite the intensity and malevolence in Cain's gaze, the Monitor continued without interruption. It didn't take him long to realize it was because the Monitor never deigned to look at him directly. To him, Cain was an undesirable instrument, a barely controllable asset of the Triumvirate organization. Despite his own rising ire at the Monitor, he came to terms with this arrangement. If the Monitor needed to assert his superiority because he felt threatened, then Cain would give him proper reason to continue to feel fear. With that in mind, he continued to stare the Monitor in the eye as he spouted background information about the stronghold they were heading towards.
Although the only illumination in the car was the eerily soft glow of the Monitor's slate computer, the Monitor noticed Cain slowly moving hand towards the hilt of his blade. He satisfyingly felt the man's discomfort rise at the subtle motion. Extracting a modicum of satisfaction, he began to give place to a cloying thought in the back of his mind. Despite the briefing he was receiving, the application of three Triumvirate Swords to such a trifling scenario seemed out of place. It was a geometric misapplication of force given the context of the situation. To exert the overwhelming force of three Swords where one would be more than sufficient gave him pause. With these thoughts swimming in his mind, he continued to glare at the bookish-looking shadowy figure as the powerful sedans roared them to their destination, searching for any more information that the Monitor may have chosen not to disclose.
The convoy of black sedans closed in on their destination like predatory jungle cats stalking unwitting prey. They smoothly pulled into the parking lot of a towering, standalone Chinese restaurant hued in iridescent blue lighting in the heart of the city. The restaurant itself was a delicate work of art, featuring large blood-red Chinese proverbs which adorned the outside of the establishment. Much of the first floor of the restaurant was plate glass, allowing patrons a sweeping view of the East River as it slid by. The Monitor began speaking again.
"You are instructed to enter the establishment through the front entrance and proceed directly up the central stairway,"
The Monitor exhumed a pair of night vision goggles from the depths of an innocuous black duffle bag and methodically placed the goggle rig over his head. Instantly, the slate's display panel switched to the input of the goggles, as the Monitor adjusted the unit to zoom in on the upper part of the restaurant's structure. Cain watched with mild interest as he began to notice that the building was designed using a split-level architecture. Ornate steps lead up to the open-air private party area which overlooked the main portion of the restaurant and kitchen. As the monitor panned, Cain began to pick up key characteristics of the restaurant's design. The u-shaped main driveway with the full parking area to the right made it easy for him to enter and escape the crowded establishment should he need a speedy exit. He imagined that the sedans would speed through the turnaround to pick him up after he had completed the task at hand. The Monitor continued with the details of his mission.
"The other Swords will scissor your central approach and pincer the rebels in the main dining area on the second level. Exterminate them and leave no witnesses."
As his brain shifted into the area of skill and expertise for the solemn undertaking ahead, he cleanly categorized all involved in the private party on the restaurant's second floor as enemy combatants. Fairly or unfairly, if they were in proximity to any target of a Triumvirate extermination mission, then they had sealed their own fate through mere association.
The sedan carrying Cain prowled through the driveway. Gripping his sword, he concealed it within the depths of his black trench and calmly exited the sedan as the valet opened the door. The restaurant's greeters opened both decorative double doors for him, unwittingly ushering the worst embodiment of death and destruction into the festive and depths of the establishment. He was a Sword of the Triumvirate, an instrument of force and vengeance, and he came to sentence and execute those which had rebelled. Feeling the diminutive wedding ring beneath his gloved finger, he pushed all stray and distracting thoughts from his mind, switching gears into fully embracing his predator persona.
As much as he had compartmentalized and retooled his brain for the work, the sounds, smells and fragrant atmosphere of the restaurant and its patrons threatened to distract him. It was a dangerous distraction to be reminded of the life he maintained outside of his duties as a Sword. Momentarily confused at the overwhelming mental schism, he forced his eyes shut and underwent a final transformation. A scowl of determination carved itself into his face, hardening it with a grimace born of a dispassionate and cold-hearted assassin. The lights and shadows danced across his face, deepening the lines and expression of resolute determination.
His stride widened and his gait became more predatory. As he cut through milling patrons and tables, approaching the sweeping stairs, he paused one final time to prepare himself for what lay ahead. Waiting for the stairs to empty of service personnel, his heartbeat quickened and his hand edged closer to the hilt of his ceremonial blade.
Observations of his surroundings came in rapid flashes as he quickly ascended the steps. His brain operating almost autonomously quickly memorized and classified potential threats, helping him develop his attack pattern. Matching the arrangement of tables and chairs to the intelligence provided by the Monitor, he observed how they framed the elongated and rectangular room. Near the rear of the space, an envelope of ceiling-height windows framed a centrally located long table which seated approximately ten individuals all in various stages of drinking, eating and quiet discussion.
Cain's approach was innocuous enough that the five individuals lining the back of the room barely noticed him until it was too late. The people at the central table were his primary target and he moved against them swiftly. He felt the air fill his lungs and his muscles become supercharged with adrenaline-fueled energy. It was an intoxicating elixir, and one he realized that despite the dark nature of his work, he relished. Remaining serenely still, he watched as the two other Swords soundlessly emerged from the crowded vestiges of the large dining space, seemingly appearing from the shadows. Like hungry apex predators, they made no sudden movements, but silently took measured steps to close the distance between themselves and those at seated the table.
While the occupants of the dinner were largely ensconced in a sense of false security, there was one individual who paused long enough to peer over the rim of his glass at Cain's looming figure at the top of the stairway. The man's eyes darted back and forth, with his arousing suspicion growing with each passing second as he noticed two other similarly positioned individuals flanking the table.
"Now who is that," he said gruffly to the companion to his left as he trained his gaze on the woefully out of place figures that seemed to be closing in on them from all sides.
"No idea," replied the man, seemingly uninterested before returning to his cavorting conversation with others at the table.
"Something isn't right," he continued, largely to himself before he realized the full weight and dire nature of the situation, they were all in.
It wasn't until they oddly still and misplaced individuals slowly began to inch closer to the table like a cat stalking a mouse that his brain finally put together what was happening. By the time he turned to look at his security detail at the rear of the dining space, it was already too late. The mysteriously expressionless killers had already closed within striking distance.
Cain did credit the bodyguards lining the rear wall by the windows. By the time the man called out to his security, three out of five figures along the back wall had spotted the threats and began throw themselves across the distance between their position and his. Within the space between seconds, his eyes darted from potential threat to threat, noticing that four more astute occupants of the main table now had noticed him.
It took them seconds to look to their guards to realize that they would never make the distance to come to their masters' defense. Scrambling, they reached under tables, in their jackets or the small of their back for various weapons to use against the predators that stalked them. Along with his Triumvirate companions, he tensed, readying for a devastating strike, well before any could levy any significant opposition against them. His vision narrowed, taking in every motion of his prey. If the woman hadn't passed directly behind one of the occupants of the table, he would never have even thought about hesitating in his attack.
However, hesitate he did. Irrationally, he found his gaze being horrifically captivated by the woman who was just returning to her seat. A building crescendo consisting of his own heartbeat blasted in his ears. With his body unnaturally frozen in place, worlds collided, and his reality unraveled. As the woman effortlessly slipped into her seat Cain became even more paralyzed when she looked over her shoulder. His gaze took in every curvature, feature and expression of the woman's beautiful face even as she adopted an understandably startled and fearful expression at the commotion at the main dining room table.
Seated along the outskirts of the main dining space with another woman that Cain instantly recognized as her sister, it was easily understandable that he'd missed them on his approach. The pair, each in their late twenties or early thirties, were dressed in sweeping and flattering eveningwear which accentuated their graceful figures. He felt his heart rise into his throat once he realized that he was staring at his sister-in-law and his wife.
Still frozen with a hand resting on his undrawn sword as a thousand thoughts rushed through his mind simultaneously. With no ideas on how to cope with this cruel twist of fate, his first instinct was to rush over to his wife and to whisk her away from the unmitigated carnage that was about to transpire. His body remained rooted to the spot as he watched the fracas begin to unwind in slow motion. If he ran to her, he would quite possibly bring an impending wall of bullets and gunfire directly towards his innocent wife and her sister. However, if he left them alone and dove into completing his task, the stray gunfire might find its way to them anyway.
It was a circumstance that he had simultaneously dreaded but almost willed not to happen for the entire four years he'd been married to the love of his life. And now, in the gaps between heartbeats, his life as a brutal assassin for a shadowy organization that enforced its will through sheer might and intimidation collided with the treasure he'd kept hidden away for years. Years of living lies and concocted stories to conceal what he did and what his affiliations were, the tingling sensation of fear in his body intensified as he realized he could not escape her notice as her frightened gaze finally met his. She looked at him as she always did. She looked right through him, to the core of his soul.
"Cain," he saw her mouth confusedly before the situation finally collapsed.
The world returned to him in rush, taking the form of a cacophony of tinkling glass. The real world intruded on his split-second reverie as the Triumvirate Swords were in motion before their prey could even mount a defense. They drew their ceremonial swords, allowing their blades to drink deep in the blood of the traitors of the Triumvirate. The scrambling and screaming bodies at the table that had managed to draw their guns, trained their weapons on the interlopers that indulged in wholesale slaughter of their guards. The half of Cain that lived this life knew what he was supposed to be doing. He knew that he should leap directly onto the table in the midst of the conclave of traitors and summarily allow the Sword of Cain to exact the vengeance the Triumvirate ordained. He would have summarily executed each person in various stages of self-defense or helplessness and proceed to exterminate all occupants of the room along with his brethren.
This realization crashed in on him as he no longer tried to avoid his wife's gaze. The other half of him, the devoted husband who felt unworthy of the unconditional love of his wife sprang into action, seizing control and banishing the duality he felt. He needed to protect the only thing of real consequence in his life. His love, his heart, his wife. He covered the distance between the two of them quickly, diving atop his wife and her sister, forcing them to the floor.
The small arms fire reverberated around the main dining room as a storm of screams and horror not only struck the upstairs portion of the restaurant, but the lower hall as well. It wasn't long before the overturning of tables, shattering of glass and stampeding crowds echoed within the establishment. Taking refuge in the corridor leading to the upstairs restrooms, Cain breathed hard as he struggled to find a solution. He had to get his wife out of here.
"God! Oh my God! Cain! What- What is happening," she screamed over the guttural growl of gunfire that rang out in the open space.
The gasps and cries of his wife and sister could not penetrate the paralysis he still felt. In this timeless collection of seconds, answers or any reassurance failed to escape his agape mouth. What was she doing here? How was she related to these people? How was he going to get here out of here? He fought to focus, his stalwart mental preparation fleeing him. He melted in the moment, realizing that she was all he had. Terrifyingly, the sounds of death reached his ears, along with the startled and horrified cries of his wife and sister as the Swords began to slaughter all at the main table.
The sallow faced, suit-adorned Sword ruthlessly wielded his blade, thrusting it through a hapless woman still in her seat. Having ruthlessly slain the enforcers closest to the window, he moved quickly down the right side of the table with a speed that defied comprehension. His unbelievable skill with the blade served him well as the remaining two bodyguards circled him, attempting to pincer him in a flanking maneuver. Now with a clear shot at him from across the room, the similarly midnight suit-clad guards withdrew formidable nickel and silver-plated Desert Eagle pistols. The hand cannons erupted as each man held his breath and unleashed a firestorm where the Sword stood seconds before.
Unfortunately for them, the assassin was already in motion. Appearing between the two attackers, he struck them simultaneously, after closing the distance between them by sliding effortlessly across the floor. His foot impacted against the guard on the right, crushing the man's knee with such force that he buckled under his own weight. His companion wasn't nearly as lucky as the Sword launched his weapon into the man's midsection, effectively disemboweling him. He was on his feet, using his momentum to spring up, bringing the butt of his blade's hilt down in the man's neck with enough power that it could have fractured his vertebrae. Leaving nothing to chance, the Sword summarily spun his weapon in his single palm, thrusting the blade through the man's neck until he felt the tip of the sword clank against the floor. Without turning he withdrew his weapon, following a pre-trained sword-wielding technique.
Stepping back into the more courageous survivors of the massacre who dared attack him, his form forced them off balance as their last few seconds of breath fled them. He moved to the side, in a traditional attack stance, twirling his blade behind him. The flashing blade sliced through his remaining aggressors with eagerness and enjoyment. His backwards killing strokes completed, he spun in a combat stance and waited for his counterpart to finish with her prey.
The devastatingly beautiful siren of death unleashed a gravity defying flurry of fluid attacks, choosing to cripple, maim and incapacitate her prey, only returning a series of moves later to unilaterally destroy the hope that they were going to survive her. She almost playfully brandished her sword, finishing off the remaining three guards. Her graceful movements were reminiscent of a deadly and obscene ballerina, often confusing her opponents by switching between several martial arts styles. Having summarily and easily vanquished her targets, she stood stock still with her stiff white overcoat stained with the blood of her victims.
The remaining enforcer she faced off against attempted to wield both of his heavy Israeli armaments and overwhelm his opponent with sheer firepower. He brought the massive guns to bear on her position, not realizing too late that she was already in motion. The chamber echoed with the thunderous clap of the Desert Eagles' gunfire. The guns barked rounds at the empty space where she stood only seconds before. Too late, the man realized the caliber of the foes he faced. Gasping for breath as the blade penetrated him, the terrible realization that he attempted to stand toe to toe with a Triumvirate Sword was his last burning thought as life whispered away from his limp form.
As the skillful assassins admired their handiwork, the picture of death and dismemberment was marred by the unexplained absence of their deadly counterpart. As if on cue, both realizing the discrepancy in the mission the Monitors laid out for them, they slowly turned, simultaneously scanning for survivors and for their wayward accomplice. They found both. Together in the corner of the room which expanded into a longer hallway by the rest room area. Smattered in the blood of their enemies, the Swords took a menacing step forward toward the muffled sobbing. Cain's wife's doe shaped eyes widened at the site of the fearful figure's approach. Her tearful, blue orb-like pupils quivered, as she instinctively exacted a death grip on Cain's upper arm. Without turning, he knew what the next series of events would mean for him and his wife and her emotionally shattered sister.
Cain knelt hunched, his black overcoat shielding the two women from view, save for his wife, who craned her head to look past him at the menacing figures that approached them. The splinter in his mind still paralyzed him as he and his wife engaged in a silent gaze. In seconds he comprehended her fear, her confusion and her love for him that whatever befell them, he would make it right. He would protect her as he always had, ensuring that in a storm of unrest and uncertainty, he would be her rock. Cain, separating himself from the situation, from the fact that his two neatly separated worlds had collided with the psychic impact of a grenade, knew what his wife was feeling. He knew that he had to get her out alive. He also knew what he would have to do to get them out safely.
"Stay here. Don't move and keep her quiet," he instructed using a tone of voice she'd never heard Cain use before.
The Swords had been tasked with slaughtering everyone who had been involved with the rebel faction or any who witnessed the act of wanton retribution. Cain, becoming slowly aware of his surroundings despite the state of shock he shared with his wife, realized that the only two remaining bystanders who were still alive were his wife and her sister. His counterparts would insist on their extermination. Still gazing wild-eyed at his wife, he realized fear was not a luxury he could afford. He needed to be her strength. He needed to be strong and focused and defend her and he reaffirmed to himself that he would do anything it took to protect her. Following years of training, he began to reassert control over himself. As if he was mechanically cleaning a cluttered house, he packed away and compartmentalized his emotions, bottling the fear, self-loathing, and shock into tools he could use. The realization of the inevitable settled on him now. There was no arguing or reasoning, or even speaking to his deadly counterparts. He would kill them, or his wife would...she would...
Cain's wife watched part in awe, part still in fear of her situation as the man she had known for so long almost physically transformed into a stranger before her eyes. The man that he became was one she'd never seen before. Despite the death and gore surrounding their perilous situation, the image of her husband frightened her more. The combination of familiarity, expected gentleness and tenderness of the man she married was gone. Cain's visage became a pale shadow of himself as he prepared for the fight of his life.
The Swords, standing behind their hunched counterpart were confused at first. The fact that Cain had not acted completely bewildered them beyond their capability to fathom. What was more confusing was the way that Cain now stood, whirling to face them. The woman in the white overcoat looked to Cain, and then to the pair of women cowering on the floor. Swords, if anything, were trained to be acute and distinct observers of their prey. In any situation, they were trained to quickly assess threats, profile their opponents, find weaknesses and exploit them. The female Sword's training served her well as she glanced at the way in which it seemed that Cain was somehow protecting them.
Her hand moved along her slim, bare waistline to the hilt of her sword. Slowly, but surely, her deadly companion took stock of the situation and steeled himself for what was to come, having arrived at the same observant conclusion. Even as she prepared herself, Cain did not move, choosing instead to stare the pair of them down, almost to warn them against what they all knew was an assured inevitability. The shrill sheen sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard pierced the air as the woman was the first to draw. Her look of determination was unconvincing as she realized the consequence of what was transpiring.
They all mutually knew that throughout the illustrious history of the Triumvirate organization, no Sword had ever harmed another. Never in the history of their order had one Sword pitted themselves against another in battle. This sense of family bound by blood was what ensured the ultimate loyalty to the Triumvirate and to each other. Swords were conditioned to trust and support one another implicitly and without question. The entire tradition of their training, customs and teachings were being called into question as Cain's look of defiance and obstruction glared back at them.
A cool breeze rushed through the shattered pane glass windows, billowing Cain's overcoat. His black trench opened just enough to allow the Swords to realize that he had already placed his hand on the hilt of his blade, ready to confront the inevitable. At this sight, the suit-adorned assassin had discarded his confusion and doubt and began to stand ready against his own in order to carry out the superseding will of the Triumvirate. Neither of the two Swords that faced Cain had any idea how the combat to follow was going to leave them. Never had the Sword's skill and tenacity with their ceremonial blades faced off in a battle for life and death. In fact, neither of them was even sure how to approach the battle. The same thoughts had rushed through Cain's mind, as he shut down the same doubts and fears. The difference between he and the two he now faced was that he had something to protect. A singular driving force for survival of his wife and her sister now galvanized him. In a wordless exchange, they spoke volumes to each other with each Sword silently arguing their point and the other refuting it with gazes of steel and determination. In the end, Cain's will was resolute, not by choice but by necessity.
It happened in the space between breaths. All three figures were hurled into motion, their blades unsheathing and coming to bear. Sword against Sword, the powerful might of each assassin's technique and spirit were pitted against their renegade comrade. Cain swiftly freed his blade from his scabbard well in advance of their attacks. The legendary Sword of Cain shrilled through the air as he moved low with a speed that frightened the two women crouched on the floor. Cain moved his blade fluidly in his hand, deflecting a blow from the bespectacled Sword in the suit, bringing the sword parallel with his forearm. The two blades clanged as an unstoppable force met with an impenetrable defense. Switching opponents, Cain felt rather than saw the woman's straight thrust of her weapon. Instinctively he moved his head inches to avoid the attack. Releasing himself from his parry, he brought his hand up and attempted to rob the man's wind from him with a palmed strike to his mid-section while twisting to lash out with the edge of his foot in a kick to force the woman back. His blow was parried, but he was able to also block the counterstrike from the suited man. The realization of the true difficulty of this battle settled on them all as every attack they threw at each other was deflected, furiously blocked, countered or dodged.
Cain's wife watched horrified from the floor, now cradling her sobbing sister as she watched a man she vaguely recognized as her husband move with a speed and skill that she could barely follow. His devastatingly beautiful and deadly movements were surreal to her as he stood between her and certain death in the form of the savagely ruthless and brutal man and woman. They fought with sword and fist, using every appendage as a means to cripple, maim and incapacitate each other. The fact that Cain was holding his own against his two attackers, frightened her more now that the display of his hidden abilities was evident.
Cain's blade clashed with the male Sword's in rapid succession. He attempted to close the distance between the two of them and engage a single opponent at a time, effectively forcing the woman to wait in order to unleash attacks against him. Now fighting full bore, each Sword unleashed a furious clutch of blows, spinning and whirling on each other, gaining momentum and strength for their strikes. Cain's blade parried an upright blow. Continuously moving, he drug his sword along that of his opponents, using his leverage to force the enemy's blade to expose his mid-section. Cain flipped backward, onto his hands, freeing up the use of his legs. He unleashed an impressive spinning kick, launching himself through the air, his heel solidly planting itself on the chin of his opponent. As the man's head snapped back, the jarring blow did little to stop his effectiveness. Continuing in the direction of the strike, his opponent spun low, extending his leg to trip Cain, who had come out of this stunning aerial flip. Falling backwards, Cain managed to bring up his sword to block another impending strike and unleashed a powerful blow to the man's bloodied mouth.
Cain used his legs from his prone position on the floor to plant his foot in the man's mid-section, thrusting him up and over his head. Sensing the opportunity for attack, Cain felt the woman closing in from behind, gathering speed for a powerful strike against his exposed and inverted spine. In an extended hand plant, Cain crumbled to the floor, allowing gravity to quickly pull him under her horizontal slice. Launching himself into a sideways roll, he caught a flash of sparks from the corner of his eye as her sharpened blade savagely raked the floor where he lay seconds before. Springing to his feet, he used a nearby wall to launch himself at her directly, coming in low.
Instead of launching his blade at her which he predicted she would parry, he led with his elbow, striking the woman swiftly near her collar bone. The power of the blow forced her back, disrupting her balance. Cain pressed on as the two pivoted their blades, bringing them both in close to their form for increased hand-to-hand effectiveness as they were trained to do. Each silently and effortlessly slipped into their own favored style of combat as they threw a barrage of barely perceptible blows at each other. Both blocking and counterstriking, Cain, driven by forces that only he could understand, was able to increase the speed of his attacks. Their breathing, barely perceptible before now, increased significantly as they both felt the dulling thud of limbs and fists striking bone and sinew. Cain matched his opponent's limber nature, allowing him to compete with her dance-inspired moves. Once again, he sensed his secondary opponent closing in on his back.
Without warning Cain dipped and planted his hand when their blades clanged off each other, bringing him into parrying position with the impending strike from the other Sword. The two bladed weapons crashed into each other, emitting lightning flashes of sparks as if pieces of raw flint were thrown together. The blow forced Cain onto his back trapping him and forcing him to block attacks while absorbing painful kicks to his ribs as best he could.
Although he was fighting with all the skill and might he could muster, he was now in the most precarious position he had ever been in. In a fight to the death against his brethren each of them knew they all were trained to be most elite and deadly combatants on the planet. Emotionless and forbidden from entertaining the weaknesses of relationships with others and personal attachments to people, the Swords were honed by the Triumvirate into the perfect weapon. Realizing this, as good as he was, Cain would never normally be able to hold his own against two of his equals. He felt the strength draining from his limbs and his will leaving him with each blow. Although he still deflected the ravenous sword of the woman, he knew it was only a matter of time before he fell victim to fatigue and the burning pain in his sides where they pummeled him mercilessly.
Writhing on the floor, he struggled to rise but caught a balled fist across the bridge of his nose for the attempt. In each try, the female Sword slammed her fist into his face, forcing blood from his bruising nose. Sharp and harsh lights crowded his field of vision with each staggering blow. In the daze and disorientation following multiple strikes, he spared a split second to reflect that he always knew that his end would be one of violence. He had pictured the countless grieving souls he dispatched eventually somehow seeking him out and exacting their just revenge on him for taking their lives. For the first time in his life, he began to question whether welcoming the silence of those cries for revenge would be such a bad outcome.
These thoughts of self-defeat coursed through his mind as he realized that the male Sword slowly moved from kicking his beaten form to stalking towards the trembling form of his wife. Barely brandishing his weapon, his wife and her sister scrabbled backwards, screaming despite the man's kind visage and outstretched hand. Cain watched, horror struck, as the man pretended to extend a kind hand towards the shivering and retreating women.
These women that made Cain turn his back on his heritage and his duty had to be eliminated for more reasons than just being here. If Cain, in full rebellion of everything he'd been trained for, sought their survival, then the Swords sought their destruction. They both knew that they had to eradicate all three of them to quell this abominable cancer growing within their order. Helplessness descended upon him like an immobilizing pall. Perhaps in some corner of his mind, if he acquiesced and accepted defeat, the Swords would hold their blades, if for no other reason than he was one of their own. Through some fraternal sense of affiliation, he thought for an instant that they would take his life in exchange for the life of his wife. His throat burned with the screams of a mentally defeated and battered man, clinging to desperate hope that if he would not survive, his beloved wife would live on to only question who he really had been in life.
Laying sprawled on the ground he could hear his heart beating in his ears feeling like the curtain was descending on his life. The male Sword tucked in his tie with a flourish as he seemed to hide his blood stained and caked sword behind his back. His poisonous gloved hand was now mere feet from his wife as she positioned herself courageously in front of her sobbing sister. Cain met her gaze and looked on with admiration at the mixture of defiance and fear he saw in her beautiful gaze. She was fearless at heart. In the face of the fight or flight reflex, she knew that running would spell her end. Her pale blue eyes turned cold, as she adopted an expression which Cain had witnessed before, usually when he was on the losing end of a dispute.
The heartbeat in his head slowed as the time between seconds seemed to lengthen. He looked in her eyes and saw the doe-like panic begin to creep into her gaze like a silent appeal for help before her life was forcibly wrenched from her. It was his fault, and he knew it. It was his doing that she was about to die. The only thing he ever cared for in this life, the only person that made him feel like a human, like he was more than just a tool to be used as an implement of death, destruction and a symbol of power. She was a truly innocent soul, an angel of mercy.
This realization catalyzed Cain's thought processes to realize in a flash of defiance that he could not give up. He had to survive. Death could never an option. The seconds returned to him more quickly now as his heartbeat seemed to synchronize with each step of the male Sword's stride towards the women. He could not, would not allow this. His heartbeat increased as he felt the power of pure will creep back into his body. He would save his wife. He would kill these Swords. Tradition and Triumvirate be damned, he would exact his will and he would save his wife and make sure she survived. In an unexpected wellspring of inspiration, he did the opposite of what he'd been trained to do all his life. He allowed himself to truly feel. The powerful rage and determination uncorked the mental barriers he'd come to rely on so frequently, releasing countless months and years of bottled anger, welling up deep within him.
A galvanizing wave of energy surged through Cain as a base level of strength and determination he had never experienced surfaced like an enormous tsunami washing over him. The emotional turmoil and furor reached a fever pitch within his psyche and before he knew it, he was in motion.
The male Sword's almost plastic smile began to vanish as he came within striking distance of his prey. He moved his sword into view, switching his grip to a position that would allow him an easy downward killing blow. While his smile vanished outside, this was as close to smiling inside as his discipline would allow. He would put an end to the illustrious Sword of Cain's forbidden personal attachments and watch as his training and emotional containment broke down. He would revel as he was reduced to soulless nothingness and take satisfaction in watching the usurper who dared to buck tradition and betray their order writhe in agony before he died.
With each impending step he seemed to take more pleasure in thinking about this outcome until his leg exploded in a nerve jarring eruption of pain and shock. He looked down to see Cain's sword protruding directly from his right thigh. There wasn't as much blood as he would have thought as he jerked his head over his shoulder to see Cain, grasping his bruised midsection, slouched over his companion.
Seconds ago, Cain's anger was free and surged through him like a high-grade emotional octane. His blood boiled as the female Sword attempted to deliver a summary killing blow. He reached up with an unexpected burst of lightning speed, exposing his flank but grabbing a fistful of her silvery blonde hair. He pulled her face toward his in a sharp and jerking motion. Cain's skull slammed into hers, jarring her off balance. He repeated the motion again, still holding onto her hair as it was his only leverage. She writhed and twisted with each impact, mostly in pain, but partially in an effort to free herself. Finally, Cain was left holding a clenched fist of her hair which he ripped out of her skull. He didn't hesitate. He couldn't. Shedding the sensation of immense pain, he rolled to his feet and bent low to plant an uppercut underneath her crouched form that lifted her feet from the floor. Before her blade clattered to the tile flooring, he was in motion, using every erg of strength he had to hurl his sword at sufficient enough velocity to perforate the hunched suited figure bent over his wife.
The woman's training kicked in and she rolled to her feet ready to spring back into combat as best as she could. She watched in mitigated horror as the man silently wrenched Cain's sword from his leg. His face grimaced, but with admirable discipline he controlled the pain, turning toward Cain. There they were again, facing each other, battered and battle weary. It was a strange realization that hit each of them as they slowly became aware of Cain's true raw determination. Like a nerve, he stood raw and reinvigorated as perhaps the most legendary and dangerous Sword to ever exist. His weakness, attachments to an individual person, apparently cut both ways, much like his famed sword. When threatened it was also his greatest source of strength.
They regarded him now, huffing, grasping for breath, battered and hunched. However, they could not relent. Part of them almost experienced a fleeting moment of admiration at his unbridled strength and his unshackled ability to turn his will into a physical force to be reckoned with. He stood his ground against two of the deadliest assassins the world had seen in recent history and managed to hold his own, returning from the dangerous precipice of an all but assured defeat. In the same moment, perhaps they began to reluctantly realize that if they were at the top of their game, Cain was better. He was the stuff of myth, legend and lore. And he was angry.
The two opponents understood that much of a Sword's combat tactics were based on observation and prediction. The capability to forecast a foe's movements, thoughts and actions led to their downfall and destruction if they could read their enemy's intentions. Their current foe defied their ability to predict. He was an anomaly and for the first time in a long time, each of them had no idea how the outcome of this battle would turn out. The uncertainty simultaneously made them fearful, to the extent that their training allowed them to experience it, and invigorated at the same time.
All that was required was a single trigger for the explosion of combat that would follow the standoff. Cain's male opponent dropped the blood-soaked Sword of Cain to the tile. In the milliseconds before the sword clattered to the ground, Cain descended on the weaker of the two. The man attempted to use his deadened leg like a cudgel, launching into a spinning roundhouse on his good leg before Cain covered the distance between the two of them. Cain realized the wound surprisingly did not slow his opponent's attack speed as he ducked under the move, crashing into the man, sending his fist slamming into his jaw. In a fluid motion, while keeping an eye on the woman now speeding toward him, he placed his foot directly behind his opponent's good leg and delivered a stunning blow to the man's solar plexus. He tumbled backward over Cain's foot, crashing to the floor.
Cain descended with him, rolling on top to land a rapid clutch of elbows to his mid-section, robbing him of his breath. Allowing the anger and rage to flow within him now, he rolled backwards toward the wall in the confined hallway, palming his faithful sword as he moved. He vaulted into a standing position, affecting a devastating upward swing with the sword. He barely registered the familiar sickly feeling as the disoriented woman's flesh absorbed the brunt of his swipe. With undeniable speed and conviction, his training kicked in as he completed the killing motion, turning and thrusting his sword backward through his overcoat. The sword was only there for an instant, but the damage was done. Cain withdrew the blade from the woman's now blood-stained white coat as she crumpled to the floor, precious life and breath escaping her. With an almost artfully vicious move, Cain bent to one knee, driving his sword into the floor, through the now crippled man. With this killing strike, he effectively, for the second time, shattered the covenant of the Sword order and killed his equals. The man died with dignity, never taking his eyes off his opponent. Cain watched as the life escaped him and his eyes deadened as his convulsing faded into the familiar stillness of death.
Outside the restaurant in the stillness of the black sedan, the Monitor slowly took off the head mounted visual scope which fed the video capture application on his slate computer. Using his stylus, he dragged the progress bar indicator to the last time index he marked using the visor. The overlay of heat signatures on top of the real-time visual data gathered by the binoculars portrayed the unmistakable, improbable and near impossible. The sallow man repositioned the time index again and again to be sure, each time squinting to ensure he was seeing what his eyes were telling him. He watched as the two Triumvirate Swords collapsed to the ground after fighting with a seemingly equal opponent. The Monitor gasped as he saw the cool ice blue rendition of the enemy's blade perforate both red and white interlaced figures. After the third time, he knew what their stillness meant. He also could easily count and knew that out of three swords, only one emerged with two women chasing after him.
With a numbness betrayed by his shaking hands he initiated the voice-telephony software on his slate and spoke out loud in the now deafening stillness of the black sedan.
"Yes," said the voice on the other end reverberating through the slate's speakers.
"Initiate the Binary protocols. The Sword of Cain has rebelled," he said with an audibly shaken voice, knowing the virtual firestorm that was brewing.