The kid settled back against the wall as they talked about Primrose. Cesare talked around the girls and the Thagirion. Classes, campus, dormitory, student body, there was a lot more to the school then the things that dominated Cesare's life.

Yoshisune focused on the classes offered. Cesare got the feeling this was another overachiever that made everyone look stupid. He had the hallmarks, a vocabulary too large for a kid brought up on junk food and pop culture, a sharpness to the eye that spoke in insights hidden, the face of someone who delighted in knowledge, not for power but simply to know.

Cesare tracked Viktor through the crowd, men skittered out of the fighter’s way, flinching away from his violence tinged eyes. Woman watched him pass, eyes running over the man's tight ass. Uncaring of the men stinking of fear or the arousal in the women’s, Viktor was arrogantly indifferent, accepting it as his due.

Yoshisune was too into the conversation to notice the deadly man carving his way through the crowds. Stopping mid-sentence as Viktor’s shadow eclipsed him, the boy looked up at the man with wide eyes. A feral thing, tangled, tawny hair whipping across his back, steel cut eyes glaring out at the world. He looked like what he was, a bad day for anyone that crossed his path.

“You’re the Doku no Hane?” Viktor asked doubtfully, eyes running over the street kid in disappointment.

Taking Cesare’s hand, the boy got to his feet, shuffling into Cesare’s shadow, a tinge of fear threading his eyes. “You’re Viktor Blood.”

Viktor smirked at the awe in the boy’s voice. “Yes, I am. Come on kid, you're coming back to Primrose with me.” Viktor turned, leading the way down the street, confident they’d follow.

Hesitating, Yoshisune gave Cesare a questioning look. “He’s like that, come on, we need to keep up or he’ll lose his shit.”

Yoshisune’s eyes locked onto Viktor’s back. “I grew up on stories of his fights. My father would take me to bed with the promise of hearing another story of Viktor Blood. I can’t believe they sent him after me.”

Shrugging, Cesare noted the boy’s worshipful eyes. “You’re a big deal.”

The worship drained from his eyes leaving cold calculation. “They want to use me, they see opportunity in my family dying. I’m a piece on the board to them, useful for what I bring to the table, nothing more than that.”

Cesare walked in silence for a time. “People are going to use you. They're going to see angles made flesh. Power, money, prestige, you’re a way to take what they want.”

Yoshisune gave him a sideways look. “Even you?”

Laughing quietly, Cesare smiled at the boy. “Especially me.” Shock painted the boy’s face at the easy admission. “I fight my corner, always. I won’t make excuses for it, so don’t look for me to feel bad. Just because I see advantage in being your friend, doesn’t mean I won’t be a good one.”

A queer, cynical light shone from the boy’s eyes. “As long as I benefit you.”

Shaking his head, Cesare dodged around a woman watching Viktor walk past. “You’re looking at it wrong. If I didn't have something you wanted, you'd be walking away right now. You want things from me, friendship. It doesn’t make you a bad person or me a bad man for wanting things from you. It’s when you get what you want, or when the price is too high, that you have to decide if the friendship is worth it.”

Yoshisune was quiet as they walked behind Viktor. “You don’t talk like anyone I’ve ever known.”

“People dress up the facts, try to make them pretty, more easily accepted. Life just is. It’s not fair, good, evil, malicious, or hateful.” Cesare looked over at the boy next to him. “With blood, fire, sweat, and tears, you carve your life out of the hell you're born into. You either have the power to chart your own course or you get enslaved to others.”

The boy went silent, lost inside himself as Cesare’s truths infected his heart and soul. Sable serpents with ruthless eyes, slithered through the boy, seeking the ideals of his child hood in their houses and dens. Ebony cruelty wedded to the bodies of snakes, devoured the lose lipped ideals with grinning relish. Cynicism, that most perfect of emotions seeped into Yoshisune’s soul, promising nothing but truth, offering nothing more than the ability to see the cancer in every rose.

Viktor walked with the quick, stalking gait, of a man that expected trouble and was looking forward to kicking its ass. Cesare wasn’t sure if the guy knew something he didn’t or having the kid put him on edge. An old samurai saying came to him ‘Tighten your helmet strings in the hour of victory’.

It’s when you think you've won that you’re closest to losing it. That drop of your guard is enough for the hungry to strike. Taking the advice to heart, Cesare slipped his switchblade into his hand, body flowing into a balanced, ready walk. If this was going to turn into a shit storm, Cesare wanted to be ready to jump free.

“You’re in the back, Cesare,” Viktor snarled, slamming the driver’s door shut.

Leaping into the bed of the truck, Cesare settled in while the others sat in the cab. He tried hard to push down the raw resentment that boiled up from within him, but it oozed over the sides of his control. He'd always be the thrown away. Useful for what he brought and meaningless beyond that. It shouldn’t matter, and most of the time he didn’t let it, but every now and then, he wanted to wash the stain away with the blood of those that turned their backs on him.

The truck roared to life, peeling out with a screech of tortured rubber. Cesare had learned to keep everything he didn't want to lose with him. But Viktor had left his backpack behind and he was going back for it. Cesare would have left and called it good, they got the asset, it was time to split while they could.

Pulling into the ratty hotel, the truck rocked to a hard stop in its parking spot. “Five minutes and .…”

Bellowing a war cry, a hulking mass of flesh shaped like a woman rammed into the driver’s door, metal buckled, warping under the force of the attack. Tattoos glittered and danced along her smooth-shaven head. Wrapped in a brown duster, her body was a hardened thing, over six feet of temper wrapped in hate.

A dart of silver blurred through the air, passenger window exploding into a rain of glass chased by Yoshisune’s high pitched scream. Leaping off the roof, a brown man fell through the air with a hair-raising cry of blood and slaughter. Feet slamming into the cab with a boom, his kukri buried itself through the roof, steel parting like rotten flesh.

Reaching behind her, the woman whipped out a cleaver, golden sigils ablaze along steel. This wasn’t the weapon of a thug; this was something special, a blade blessed by an unforgiving god. Slicing down, it carved through the steel frame of the door, window shattering into thousands of diamonds.

Curses scorching air, Viktor came up with guns blazing, shooting out through the shattered remains of glass, bullets boomed with thunderous explosions. The big woman was too close to get away, lead hammering into her body, shuddering under the onslaught before she ducked below the angle of fire.

The silver dart poised itself in front of the windshield, a blade twisted into a hypodermic needle, edges sharp enough to cut the air, golden script glittering along its length. Rocketing down, the shining needle of a blade pierced the windshield, burying itself between Victor and the screaming figure of Yoshisune.

The door to their room opened, revealing a figure swathed in brown. He was big but not like Viktor. This was a man that would fit in at a roadside bar. Close cut hair gave him a vague military bearing that went well with the dangerous set to his face. Parting his coat, his hands settled on two long Bowie knives sheathed at his hips.

Viktor stopped cursing, the man’s appearance stripping him of words. Cesare had a second to take it in before the small man leapt off the cab, slashing at Cesare’s face. Dodging back, power flooded into Cesare in a frozen beat of time.

Aleph tore through his mind, slicing the world with ruthless precision, attackers revealed in all their glory. They weren’t human, the glittering golden feel to them wasn’t anything Cesare had come across before. The Kundalini opened his Root Charka unleashing a torrent of red strength.

Backing across the bed of the truck, Cesare watched the savagely grinning man stalk him. The moment pulled at Cesare, cold as lover’s hate. Leaning back spine as liquid as a snake’s, Cesare’s center of gravity shifted. His kick snapped forward, cracking into the guys chin, slamming the guy back against the cab.

Leaping with boneless fluidity, another attacker came for Cesare. Landing on the rim of the truck bed, the man stood with the grace of a dancer, lean and rangy, a snake in human form.

While Cesare was in the bed of the truck, they had him. They'd corner and cut him into strips. Rolling back, Cesare’s shoulder hit the rim, feet smacking the asphalt of the parking lot. He couldn’t win in the truck, but he might hold them off on the ground.

The small man bounded down to the ground with an eager yell, split lip staining his teeth scarlet. Blade sweeping and diving in eagerness, its sigils shone with savage need. The strange blade was like an attack dog straining at its leash for the taste of flesh.

Mr. Snake slipped down from the truck with cool economy of motion, hands free steel. But he didn’t need them, the man was deadly, showing it with every step he took. As hairless as a maggot, with even his eyebrows shaved. No fury burned the bastard’s cold eyes.

They were herding him away from the truck. The small man with his sweeping, questing blade, and the snake man with every threatening step. Hardened killers with the experience of wetworkers, this had gone down too quick and precise for it to be anything but professional. Leaving the truck had bought him seconds. What he needed was Viktor to come and save his ass.

The truck roared into a blasting growl, rocketing back it clipped the big woman. Sweeping out, her cleaver parted steel skin with a squeal of tortured metal. For a second, Viktor locked eyes with Cesare, an eternal moment the world held its breath to see what the man would do. Throwing it into gear, Viktor sped over the lawn and onto the street.

The last barrier of Cesare’s self-control snapped as the truck disappeared. There was a benefit to wearing baggy clothes, it let you hide all kinds of things. Cesare’s hand dipped into the back of his hoodie, grabbing the liter bottle tied in a break away knot. The knot gave way, and in one looping throw, Cesare tossed the bottle at the small man.

“Get out of there!” The shout came from the man who’d walked out of their room.

It was too late. The detonator was a tumbler, once the glass rod broke it exploded. It wasn’t exact but it didn’t need to be. Blowing apart, a red and white cloud expanded into a stew of caustic chemicals.

Cheyenne pepper and powdered bleach. The Snake rolled out of the cloud, eyes tightly closed, face coated in a skim of blinding powder. An enraged scream sounded from the small man as he stumbled out of the cloud, kukri probing the air with hungry movements. The cloud enveloped Cesare, but with his eyes closed it only stung along his skin. He didn't need eyes with Aleph supporting him, but he was the only one.

The bladed needle flew through the cloud, stabbing, darting, seeking Cesare. Tearing through the misty vapor, it came out the other end, whipping around and diving back. Each of the attackers had the same resonance, a golden slime threaded their beings, including the one hiding on the roof watching the fight.

With a sharp tug, the disc came off his back and out from under his sweatshirt. Heavy with molded explosive and embedded flechettes, the disc was unwieldy at the best of times. But he’d never tried to throw it with the Kundalini riding him. The disc broke from the concealing cloud with traceries of white ghosting after it.

“Dart! Get out of there!” Instantly jumping from her hiding place, the woman was in midair when the disc exploded. An expanding concussive wave shattered the air, splintering the glass in the hotel. The roof caved in under the force of the explosion, falling down in showers of splinters and broken shingles.

Raining in a shower of steel spikes, the flechettes tore through the hotel in a storm of maiming. Caught in midair, the wave batted Dart through the air like the hand of an angry god, a storm of steel ravaging her flesh. Hitting the ground with a wet thud, she skidded across the asphalt in a spreading pool of scarlet. Freezing in midair, the twisted hypodermic blade convulsed before falling to the ground.

The explosion had torn the cloud cover from around Cesare, exposing his bolting for the street. It was his only chance, if he could hit the street, he could disappear into the shadows. There was no way they'd catch a weasel like him in his own world of cement and back alleys.

Eyes tightly closed; Mr. Snake had withdrawn from the fight. He’d smelled the bleach and acted to save his eyes from becoming so much rotting meat. The shock wave had sent the small man ass over tea kettle, only now picking himself up. Stepping out of the doorway, the leader started for Cesare.

That only left the big woman that had gone toe to toe with the truck. Long legged and fast, she sprinted across the ground with a speed he couldn’t match. As she entered his range, Cesare pivoted, momentum bleeding into his body as he whipped around, knee thrusting forward. She hammered into the bone spear, ribs cracking under the combined force of her charge and his power.

Bending forward, the woman rolled off his knee, blood hitting the ground from the bullets Viktor had put into her. She struck with blinding speed, smashing her meaty fist into his face, casually throwing him back.

She'd been dragged through the meat grinder backward, Viktor ripping her open with bullets even before she’d taken a knee to the ribs. Sliding forward, Cesare's fist slammed into broken ribs, tearing a grunt of pain from the woman. His skull rocked back, lips splitting, blood spraying from ripped flesh as her fist cracked into his jaw.

His snap kick buckled her leg, dropping her to the ground on one knee. Gritting her teeth, she surged up, punch taking him in the stomach, bruised muscles tearing under the pummeling. An elbow flashed across his vision, head flying back as she connected.

Cesare’s body jack knifed backward, knee rocketing forward, crunching into the huge woman’s ribs, soft tissue bursting under pressure. Stumbling to the side, blood bubbled from her lips as she collapsed in a heap, body giving out under the unrelenting onslaught.

Hot and thick, blood ran down Cesare’s face as he turned to make his escape, coming face to face with the leader. The big man stood as a sentinel between Cesare and the road. He wasn’t the tallest man Cesare had seen, in fact, both Mr. Snake and the big woman were taller. But he didn’t need to be, he owned an aura of simple, supreme competency.

“We came to talk, give us a day of your time, and we can end this.” Opening his coat, the man rested his hands on the duel Bowie knives that rode his hips.

Viktor had laid the groundwork and Cesare had finished them off by being trickier than your average rabbit. He was all out of tricks and this guy was fresh. There was no way he'd come out vertical, not with this guy.

Nodding, Cesare settled out of his stance. “I have your word on that?”

The man swept Cesare from boots to the top of his shoulder length hair. “My word as a Hound of the Illuminati. I'll cut you lose after we've talked.” Cesare nodded; this wasn’t a man that needed to lie. “Good. I don’t know how you're still able to see, but we need to get my team in the van and bug out.”

The man waited for Cesare to turn back and walk toward the bloody, unconscious, and whimpering wetworkers before coming up beside him. “Get Dart to the white van. I’ll collect Banana and Snake.” Cesare shrugged and started at a slow run toward the small woman that had been directing the twisted blade.

She was fucked. The flechettes stood out along her arms and back like the quills of a porcupine. Cesare lifted her off the ground, avoiding steel feathers smeared in scarlet. Blood ran off the girl, dripping onto his shoulder, trickling streams of claret down his body. Wet gurgling breaths rasped through the girl, body quietly convulsing in its struggle to keep meat alive.

The van was already full of the fucked up and dying. The big woman sprawled in a growing pool of blood, the small man and Mr. Snake huddled on metal benches set into the frame of the van. Trails of watery blood dribbled from Banana's eyes, tracing his face in the melting remains of his eyes. Mr. Snake put his hand on Banana's shoulder, keeping him from lunging at Cesare.

“Get in and hold on.” The order came from the leader, punctuated by the slamming of the driver’s door.