Dim overhead lights flared to life as Silas walked into the room. He tensed briefly, as was his habit, when he saw his dark reflection in the one of the many mirrors on the walls. The mirrors spanned from floor to ceiling and had a strange sheen to their surface, as if made from crystal instead of glass. Spaced between the mirrors at even intervals were racks of weapons.

Silas walked to the weapon rack in the middle of the far wall while he rolled his shoulders to loosen up. He threw his shirt to the ground and absently stretched his corded muscles as he stood before the rack. Bladed weapons of every origin lined the training room and he intimately knew the secrets of each and every one. He traced a slender finger along several of the deadly instruments while trying to decide which he wanted to use. In the end he picked up a copy of his main weapon, the only difference being it was made entirely out of pearly steel, and a long knife with a leather wrapped hilt.

After sheathing the dagger at his belt, Silas placed his palm on metal plate next to the rack, the metal warming beneath his skin as it read his palms. A translucent orange keyboard appeared on the mirror to his left. He smoothly typed commands into the keyboard and the mirrors around the room flashed briefly in response.

A low, but intense hum vibrated through the air as Silas stepped to the center of the room, twirling the dagger slowly around his fingers. The dark room began to whirl, becoming a hurricane of shadow around Silas as he waited, the tip of his sword resting on the ground. For several moments all Silas could see was swirling blackness with the odd streak of light. What once would have sent him into a panic was now actually a welcomed norm amongst his chaotic thoughts, the tempest was a soothing distraction.

A cold raindrop hit his bare shoulder. After a moment another hit his cheek and slid down to his chin…. and then another and another until he was soaked with cold rain. He had to shake his hair out his eyes.

The weather always starts first.

A crack of thunder filled his ears.

Then the sound.

The now fully colored storm of light stopped spinning and was beginning to take shape of coherent images. Clouds sprang forth from the greys and whites to form the angry, dark sky above him. Rain washed apartment buildings came into focus around him while the sidewalks and streets unfolded around him. In front of each of the buildings a cherry tree blossomed before his eyes, the branches dotted with their signature pink flowers, though seemed crimson in the rainy light. Blood blossoms. Wind finally lifted his sodden hair from his brow as he cast a practiced eye around his new surroundings.

Wet, lank blossoms swirled past him. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was in another place other than his estate. Everything seemed so real. The smell the wet asphalt mingled strangely with the sweet, coy scent of cherry blossoms. He actually shivered with cold as the rain soaked him to the bone. He could actually hear his boots clap against the pavement and the rain pour into the growing puddles. But it was all an illusion, a powerful illusion that could fool and destroy those of a weaker mind.

Suburban Kyoto, huh? Interesting... He thought as he walked slowly down the dreary deserted street.

He knew they were out there, hidden in the shadowy corners or stalking him from the rain whipped rooftops. The deluge masked their approach with the sound of thousands tiny splashes. His instincts told him he was already surrounded. A shadow darted across an alleyway to his left but was gone before he could focus on it.

Footsteps, quick and light sounded behind, than darted away from him.

Toying with me… that’s fine…I have no problem drawing first blood.

He came to stop in the middle of the street and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and listened. He closed his eyes and the sound of the deluge faded away.

Six on the roof….five behind me….two to each side and at least four to the front… he noted the positions of each of his foes by the beating of their hearts and whooshing of their lungs. One of his foes shifted his weapon ever so slightly, causing the blade to clink against his armor. Silas spun and threw his knife directly in to an alley way to his left.

From the soft thud and gurgle, followed by the clatter of body and armor a second later, he knew his knife had hit home. The street has quiet for two full heart beats, before a surging battle cry rang out from all around him, the air suddenly thick with charging footsteps.

Eyes still closed, he deftly side stepped to the right and a singing peal of a blade rang past him. His sword arm swiped out. His eyes shot open as the hot blood splashed across his face and naked chest. The two halves of the neatly bisected fighter collapsed ground. The assassin impassively stared at the other fighters huddled before him as the blood mixed with the water at his feet. They cautiously rounded him in a perfect circle. There were at least twenty of them, counting the two he already slain. He straightened to his full height and suddenly spun, snatching the poisoned tipped arrow racing toward his back. Not stopping his spin, he twirled the arrow in his fingers and launched it at the warrior closest to the building he already marked.

The bladed arrow bypassed the eye slits in fighter’s metal helmet and slammed into his left eye as Silas mercilessly cut down the remaining fighter in his path. He could hear the others racing after him. He reached the alleyway and bounded up the wall, using his momentum to leap between the two building and gain altitude. A black garbed fighter with a silver helmet leaped off the roof above him and drove a long thin sword at his heart. Silas twisted in midair and whirled his blade around to catch his diving opponent across the throat. Crimson splashed across the rain slicked wall and the lifeless body tumbled into one of his pursuers.

Silas flipped onto the roof, cutting down an archer at the end of his revolution. Silas spun and deflected another arrow with his sword, the shaft splintering against the steel. Thunder crashed overhead as three black garbed men flipped onto the roof in front of him. Two of them held simple blades at the ready while the other duel-wielded curved short swords. Silas crouched, tensing as he waited for the coming strike.

The duel-wielder tried to surprise him by throwing one of his tonto at his chest; but Silas easily stepped to left and caught the weapon by the blade. The attack was merely a diversion; both of the swordsmen rushed him as soon as the blade was away. Silas neatly dodged the first swing, the blade whistled a scant inch from his face, and parried the second attack with his own sword. Silas then pressed the attack with a back hand swipe at the second swordsmen, who was still recovering from the strong parry, and lopped off his head.

Before the revolving head hit the ground, Silas eviscerated the first swordsmen. His bloody intestines spilled across the roof the same time the dismembered head bounced to a rolling halt. The remaining fighter ran at him, intending to slash at his throat with his sole weapon. Instead of merely ducking the blow, Silas, quick as the lightening that forked overhead, ran at the swordsmen. Silas launched himself at the warrior and using his thigh as a launching point, vaulted over the man. At the apex of his leap, Silas spun his body until he was looking straight into the warrior’s wide eyes.

He brought his weapon down in a powerful arc, the force of which cracked the stone beneath them. The two halves separated in a spray of blood and fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Silas heard a soft twang behind him and felt the air shift behind him. He spun and threw the tonto, cutting the arrow that was racing towards him in half. The shaft passed to either side harmlessly the same time the archer that shot it fell with the tonto buried in his throat.

Silas took the momentary lull in battle to physically check his body for wounds, not that it mattered here; it was merely out of habit. Thunder boomed overhead and the sky darkened further. Lightening split the sky once more to reveal four more warriors flipping over the far edge of the roof. Their gold helms gleamed in the dull light, signifying their elite status. These would not be so easily dispatched.

As Silas slowly walked towards the quad of enemies, he lowered his blade until it scraped against the stone beneath. He saw fingers tighten on hilts and legs crouch in readiness. The roof was about sixty feet in length; he was about half way when he started sprinting. Sparks flew from the trailing blade as his boots splashed through the layer of cold water. One of the warriors rushed forward to meet his charge with his sword raised. The man leapt when he was five steps away from Silas, intending to vault over him much the same way he did a moment ago.

Silas anticipated such a move and hurled his sword directly into his foes blackened breast plate; the force of the blow buried the curved sword all the way to the hilt. Silas had already snapped the neck of one of the others and deftly dodged a vertical slash to his shoulder by the time the first body hit the ground, his limp body splashing water over Silas as he dueled.

Silas twisted his torso around and elbowed the warrior behind him in the face with such force it sent him careening over the short wall and to the street below. The last remaining fighter backed off and cautiously circled Silas until the edge of the roof was at his back. Silas didn’t have a weapon, but that didn’t concern him. He was the weapon; the sword was just a tool to channel his deadly intent. The golden helm gleamed with a lightning strike as warrior tossed his weapon to the ground.

The warrior cracked his neck slowly and struck a fighting stance. Silas cracked his knuckles and took a step towards the stationary man. The man launched himself at Silas with a cry, only to have Silas grasp him by the throat and halt his attack. The fighter began to panic, his quick, sour breath washed rapidly across Silas’s face as he slammed his knuckles repeatedly into Silas’s midsection. Silas grunted with each impact before squeezing his fingers together and violently tearing his throat open. The pummeling stopped and the body grew limp in his grasp. Silas tossed the body away and shook his hand to rid him of the man’s blood. Flecks of diluted blood flew from his fingertips to further mingle with the falling rain.