It was a good wait while her would be opponent sat at the entrance in contemplation or consternation. In that time she reflected upon this action. It was better to overestimate then under, her brother always claimed, and so she felt it safe to assume this unseen face held forethought. If this were the case, engaging him head on would probably not be her wisest choice. That decided thought led her toward imaging how Crais would handle the situation. 

Taken steps brought her attention to the entrance as a hulking male figure made its ingress no more than a step from the door. Never in her life had she seen such a large man causing the palpitations squeezing her chest to increase. She wonder whether or not it would be possible to win in a struggle against such a beast. If it were her brother, he would wait and watch for an opening to present itself. 

“When an opponent appears to outmatch you, it’s best to avoid head on combat.” The words from memory, the voice tickling her ear, ushered relief to partially calm the blood ragging through her veins. Able to think a mite better, she abandoned the idea of straight combat for the stealth of an assassin. Her sword left her hand to balance against the one remaining upright bookshelf; using as few movements as possible. She nearly breathed a sigh of respite from tension, as nary a sound had disturbed the quiet by its careful placement.

Deep within the shadows of the far corner she sat, stashed beside the bookshelf, confident of her concealment from those searching eyes. Cautious steps brought the hulking figure nearer the middle, with his back facing her. He stood taking in the expanse of the room without once turning his neck to further aid his sight.

She thought it weird.

Yet she gave the notice little heed in her flight forward.

The grand amount of speed she had amassed in her years of training came into use as she swiftly threw her weight upon her hulking target. Saoirse wrapped her legs around his waist, causing him to flail about in confusion, as she slipped a knife down from the wrist sheath beneath her sleeve. In one deft sweep, she had slit the throat of her first victim before he could even scream for the help of his comrades. Thick, dark blood ran down her hands as the body slumped lifelessly against her, soaking the edge of her pajama sleeve. She somehow managed to catch the hulk before it could descend, stumbling a bit under the dead weight, to carefully prostrate him to the floor soundlessly.

The task had been done; irrevocably.

Legs gave beneath a shaking hold, as eyes bore unto crimson stained hands, as chaos ensued a previously devoid mind, and yet her reality was not yet beyond the dream. Unable to deal in the moment, unwilling to fall apart amidst this night of lurid horror, Saoirse eliminated the past moments from her mind’s sight. Despite her shaking hands, despite the bile trapped in her throat, and despite her regret so sharp she fell back into the void of nothingness to escape. Blank to her own hands destructive power, running based on her need to protect her little brother from death, her body ran on the instinct transcribed unto her soul by Crais’ indolent teachings.

Her elder brother’s voice whispered in her ear. Regardless to the truth of whether or not he had spoken these words in past conversations, she followed the instruction to the letter as though it were another strict lesson. His urgings guided her toward the discarded corpse, breathing his will to hide the body amongst the shadows to prevent alarm within the ranks of the remaining few. Hooking her arms beneath cooling armpits, she dragged the body to rest against the shaded corner where her blade waited to be reclaimed. Once satisfied with the placement, she reached for the sword before reacting violently to her scarlet bedewed flesh.

Saoirse took her hands to the man’s shirt, wiping relentlessly against the abraded fabric to scrub the offensive color from her skin. She could not place how it's presence marred her in the haze of her upset. The red tore at the flesh of her chest with searing blades, bringing her breath to come out in ragged heaps. A perplexing feel rose across the stolid expanse of her current and unsteady existence. Even her brother’s steady presence had been pushed aside for the possession of this madness to cleanse her hands so brutishly of rouge smears. As the outré marring dissipated to nothingness her mind began to clear.

Little by little the obsessive need began to fill once again with the presence of the phantom Crais and she was able to pull away well enough to reclaim her discarded weapon, albeit with an unsteady hand. 

Guided by her gentle brother, a fierce warrior at the top of the One Government’s militia, she was reminded to the fact that there was still more to be done. The task she held of protection, of revenge, not quite through to be stalled over her inability to properly configure her emotions to handle her current truth.

Even with that knowledge settled with mixed emotion in the back of her mind, the ‘her’ of the moment easily brushed the episode earlier aside as though it had not occurred.

Her stealth feet brought her across her father’s study and into the large kitchen of her once tranquil home. Despite the rooms being quite far from the one another, the way of travel had no hold upon her memory. Her attention had been quite taken by strategic considering. The gift graced by the elder brother whom still whispered his thoughts in her ear like the barest wisps of fond reminiscences of a time so long ago they barely held corporeal form. 

From her earlier notice there was but two enemies left for her to defeat, howbeit there was also the chance for others to be elsewhere. Then again, from all appearances this residence was that of an elderly man, a widow, and children. There was no need to think that many were needed to accomplish whatever task had them acting in this garish manner. For now, the number held in her mind, what she planned for in the next second were the two she was aware of existing. Never-the-less her thoughts and moment by moment planning did not keep her from considering a surprise attack from that unknown third or fourth member. 

Running full tilt against more than one opponent was not a feat Saoirse would be able to match. Not especially if the remaining two were anything like the hulk she had first faced. This thought in mind spurned her to remain playing at the assassin in the shadows. Crais whispered a plot in her ear and she readily moved forward to see this will executed to perfection. Confidence raised, her brother guiding her actions with a marionette's string, she felt herself to be at the peak unable to fall.

Within the center of the kitchen during her momentary pause for consideration of a next step, she strove toward the counter with unfaltering purpose. In easy and deft movements her weight was hoisted upon the counter’s surface. Her balance was kept by leaning upon the myriad of cupboard doors. She dragged her hand lightly upon the dark wooden surfaces, hesitating in consternation for but a moment. Carefully opening the cupboard door, shifting her weight to be in the prime position, she shoved her arm to brush up against the wall to run its full length. She curved her arm about, holding a breath to spare a moment’s regret, and smashed her limb forward. 

Delicate blown glass, cups her mother took pains to create, impingement the ground to splinter with a symphonious crash. Shards of glass flew from one end of the kitchen to the other. She moved along as though possessed. Nary a bit of her earlier remaining terror and misgivings were apparent in this facade that ambled along with careful steps from the counter to the floor, avoiding shards of glass with bare feet.

A confidant stature glided toward a darkened edifice untouched by the moonlight’s unwavering strength. Even so, fingers trembled as a body hoisted itself to crouch next to a potted plant, large leaves rustling due to the placement. Small hands shook as they grasped tightly a blade’s hilt in preparations for assassination. A heart quivered as the wait drew on an unbearable length. Yet, the mind remained disconnected to all of these signs of fear. Her mind, separate from the feel of her body, lay in wait for the next proprietor to death.

It was not a long wait.

Yet in this tense silence it felt like an eternity had passed before the kitchen door croaked out an unpleasant shrill and glass crunched underfoot with each painstakingly cautious step. 

Her body tensed.

Her hands became a deadly grip around the hilt of her blade. Her eyes watched with growing attentiveness this new figure just as large as the last. He moved with the same sureness of foot, and held himself to the center of the room, with only his head moving to search the entirety of the area around him. There was something underlying the stoic feel of this hulk, something she now realized to have been part of the first, yet it beat more strongly in this instance.

It caused a thrill to travel down her spine. In the back of her prevalent thoughts she knew this feeling, understood its deadly undertones, but the knowledge became a muddled whisper under the weight of her current state. Crais’ instruction fell upon her ears, a gentle caress, yet strict in nature leaving no room for failure. She would wait until the tense muscles of the hulk’s back slackened from false security of naught being visibly amiss within the kitchen. The moment his foot moved for egress would be the seconded she left the safety of the shadows. Her eyes watched incessantly, hounding the figure for its split moment of vulnerability, thoughts becoming strictly of pleasing her phantom brother.

Muscles fell slack.

Sinew stretched and joints creaked as the hulk made as to leave.

Breath eased out, unguarded.

Saoirse’s body sprung from her hiding place, the blade held tightly in her hands arched in a deadly fashion.

Sparks rose up from metals meeting resistance.

The collision of a body into the wooden kitchen cupboards wickedly squelched out a hollow thud.

Then, as if from another, rose up a breathless squeak through a painfully gritted mouth.

This course of events happened in the span of an instant.

No more than the time it took for the eyes to register their seeing.

Saoirse rose to her feet, ignoring the pain that screamed from her ribs. Two were broken. Howbeit, in this state of Void only a mere moment was dedicated to this notice. Her full attention already fully occupied by this whispering voice wearing the flesh of her brother. The gentle pressure of his large hands on her shoulders urged her forward, encouraging this rising blood lust with soft kind words flowing down her ear canal. Thus, emboldened by this, she had risen to her feet, legs sturdy despite the strength that had downed her; blade at the ready.

The hulk watched with appraising eyes likened to a silent predator. She returned the favor in kind, mind working toward an end with the least amount of commotion. There was still another to worry about. Saoirse did not hold the confidence to fight two opponents in one go.

“Those two broken ribs on your right will be your ally.” Her brother whispered conspiretingly.

She nodded her head as though he were truly there able to see it. Yes, she would play upon this injury for a swift victory. Making a show of it, Saoirse winced dropping her guard, though only a feint as not once had her awareness of this hulk left the forefront of her senses. If the thought proved correct, this hulk of an opponent would move to attack her readily shown weak point. If this thought proved correct, she would respond in kind, making use of her quick foot work to be one step closer to putting end to this late-night-lurid-hour.

Eyes, catching the moonlight’s gleam, gleaned toward the artfully given infirmity. Akin in length to the twitching of a muscle and was almost too little to take one’s notice. The strength of her limbs ebbed through each drawn out second; even so, the worsening state of her body did not register. Charmed by the voice of her spurious brother and so thoroughly enthralled in the thought of pleasing him, her entire focus was upon the hulk before her. She laid her weakness bear as bait, she pushed down the accumulating protest within her body to remain upright, and finally she held her ground beyond her current ability.

Even though it should not have been physically possible for this slight female form, already severely injured from the previous encounter, she parried the upcoming blow with a single hold.

Her blade arched upward, throwing the opponent off balance. The bones in her arm cracked under the pressure. Despite this mind numbing pain, she managed to act swiftly. From her pajama sleeve bloomed a double edged knife, the steel spanning the length of her hand. In the split second of having lost equilibrium her knife found purchased between the hulk’s ribcage. The feel of renting flesh, shoving passed muscle and bone, was a disconnected ill twinge traveling from her arm to her stomach. The ‘her,’ in this moment, unregistering the feels festering in her heart dropped her weight to the floor to unhinge the hulk’s mass with a well-placed swipe of her left leg.

Twinge.

The broken bones of her ribs and arm flared intently enough that her mind so tightly gripped by her illusory brother’s firm hand, registered the ache. Her body, no longer able to follow given commands and too beaten and broken and fatigued, could not use her superb agility to escape the coming danger.

The two-hundred and fifty pound hulk slammed her body flat with his dead weight, squeezing the air painfully from her lungs. Saoirse sucked in air sharply causing more pain to tremor throughout her body. The whispers of her brother’s voice were becoming faint. Soon she became hardly able to make out the muttered words of the mouth working furiously to speak.

The image of her brother flickered and dispersed to be replaced by a foreign figure that quite easily towered the vast height of her dear brother. The barrel of a gun pointed toward her head. Eyes that glinted with the intent of murder alighted dangerously to her form, taut as a bow sting to fire at the slightest aggression on her part.

Saoirse could hardly register the precarious situation descending upon her through the pain flaring her vision white hot as this heavy body pushed down on her wounds. Every slight movement sent the garish feelings to fly anew through her every nerve ending. Rather than pull her remaining wits to face this foe, she tried to grasp onto the faint fragments of her brother that still lingered in the air. He flashed and flickered over this new face and then her vision grew dark and sound fled from her ears. The whole of the world seemed to have vanished in a blink, even so her body continued to try at movement despite its inability to do so.