MERCILESS HUNTER

The snow had no mercy.

It didn't care about the blood soaking into it. Didn't care about the boy lying motionless beside two lifeless bodies. The blizzard howled like it was mocking him-howling with the same cruelty that had ripped his world apart.

He was thirteen when it happened.

Thirteen when he watched the only people he ever loved fall to the ground, their bodies riddled with bullets, their eyes wide in betrayal. His mother's hand had reached for him, trembling, her mouth trying to form his name even as life drained from her lips. His father had gone down without a sound-eyes locked on the boy, silent as the grave he was seconds from entering.

Then came the silence.

Not the consoling kind, but the sort that seeps into every crevice of your body until you are unable to breathe. The snow fell more forcefully. Boots crunching away, laughing resonating in the trees, the men who had done it were gone. One of them had uttered the name to him:

"Tell Victor that the work is finished."

Victor.

The boy's spirit was marked by that name, which burned deeper and brighter than the cold and the anguish.

He refrained from crying.

He didn't yell.

It wasn't until daylight that he moved. The blood was frozen by then. His heart was the same.

Ten years later,

The hunter's black coat whipped in the wind as he stood at the cliff's brink. His expression was impenetrable and icy. The last of the setting sun fell on the scar across his jaw.

A group of armored cars crawled along the mountain trail under him, oblivious to the predator above.

With his weapon in his hands and his gaze fixed on the lead automobile, he knelt slowly. Not quite yet. It was all about timing. It everything went south with one misstep. This was too long overdue. Tracking for three days. Four informants were bought off. To keep the trail chilly, two were eliminated. He got closer with each stride.

In criminal circles, his moniker was now a whisper:

Cain.

They were unaware of his true identity.

They simply knew that someone vanished when he showed up.

No second chances.

No haggling.

Without mercy.

The quiet was broken by the trigger, like a hot knife, the bullet ripped through the engine block of the lead vehicle.

Flames grew.

There were screams. With the weapon slung over his back, Cain was already on the move, gliding deadly precision down the ice ridge. The air was obscured by smoke.

There was panic.

Like a shadow, he moved. There was never any opportunity for the guards. Before the others knew they were being pursued, two were down with silent shots. As he reached for his radio, the third fell. The fourth one took off Cain gave him permission. Sometimes, fear caused more harm than death.

A man cowered inside the last automobile, gasping on smoke. When he signed the shipment orders, his suit was soiled and he was rambling prayers to a God he couldn't recall.

Grabbing him by the collar, Cain tore open the door.

"Wait! I'll talk, please! Whatever you want, I'll give it to you! "I know," Cain stated bluntly. "That explains your continued existence." It was freezing in the warehouse.

Concrete cold, not snow cold, Gray, dead, Exactly what Cain required.

Alvarez was the man's name. A minor middleman in a trafficking organization that dealt in drugs, firearms, and human beings. Cain had no interest in the actual procedure. There was just one thing he desired:

a name.

the uppermost one.

The one pulling the strings.

With his arms shaking and his lip bleeding from the last blow, Alvarez was strapped to a steel chair. Calmly, Cain stood a few steps away. Making calculations.

"This is not required of you," Alvarez croaked. "I could go for a walk. Because of my connections, I could assist you.

Cain remained silent.

Beside him, he opened a case and took out a set of basic, yet efficient, surgical instruments. psychological power. Alvarez took a deep breath.

He shouted out, "I... I work for Victor Rykov." Cain's head jerked upward.

The name Victor.

The name hadn't changed in ten years. It was seared into every choice he had made and etched into the walls of his nightmares. It all came down to him, every muscle he had worked out, every bullet he had loaded.

"Where is he?" With a voice like steel scraped over gravel, Cain inquired.

"You believe I am aware? Nobody is aware of Victor's location! Man, he's a ghost. Everything is moved from the shadows by him. Victor is not found by you.

He locates you.

Cain moved forward and lightly poked a blade into Alvarez's thigh, reminding him that the boundary between pain and panic was actually quite thin.

You are employed by his inner ring. Someone must be aware of his next location. Alvarez let out a whine.

"A party is taking place.

A celebration of shipment. In three nights, only high rollers. Everything that comes into contact with Victor's network: girls, guns, drugs. It will be there if he surfaces anyplace.

Cain's face was inches from Alvarez's as he leaned in. "Place."

Port Seraph. Naval yard abandoned. It's an invite-only, underground party, disguised.

Cain smiled thinly. "I've received an invitation already." The man in the mirror had changed. Examining the marks and bruises from the ambush, Cain stood shirtless, his scarred muscles straining.

He calmly and methodically sewed his own shoulder. No longer did pain register. Years had passed since then. He wasn't careless. He was a target for a weapon. This life wasn't meant for him.

It had forged him.

Tempered by blood and fire.

He was buried with his parents under his real name, Daniel Cross. All that was left was Cain. A specter. A single-purpose sword drawn. However, he occasionally recalled his mother's voice humming at night when the adrenaline subsided and the quiet returned during the intervals between missions.

He recalled how cozy his father's arms were. And a tiny break appeared in the ice surrounding his heart. only to freeze once more when Victor crossed his mind. Kneeling next to their bodies in the snow, he had sworn. I'll go after them. I'll track him down. And when it dies, I'll show him what mercy looks like.

Somewhere, a woman watched Cain from a distance in a city illuminated by neon falsehoods and promises mixed with smoke. Her eyes followed him like a hawk across the crowd as she leaned against the bar, her red lips encircling a glass of whiskey.

Aria Vale was her name, and her being here was not coincidental. For weeks, she had been pursuing him. Silently. With caution.

Victor wanted Cain dead, not alive, as a price. Although Aria wasn't one to take things lightly, she found this one intriguing.

Not for the cash.

However, due to the man. Cain wasn't your average merc. He was a threat. calculated. chilly. However, his movements and the eerie silence in his eyes conveyed a different message.

He wasn't murdering for fun.

He was hunting for a reason. He was unpredictable as a result.

"Target acquired," she said, inserting a chip into her ear. tracking in silence.

"Do not engage," said the crackling voice in her ear. Just observe. Report back. She smiled to herself. "We'll see." Cain unfolded an old photo back at his safehouse. faded edges. In the snow, there are three happy faces. His parents were so content and youthful. And the middle boy had no idea what was going to happen.

He followed his father's hand on his shoulder as he stood behind his mother, tracing the contours of her smile. That picture had withstood storms, shootouts, and flames better than some individuals.

He stored it inside his jacket in a secure case. Near his heart.

Gently folding the picture, he slipped it into the pocket across his chest.

Three nights

The party is three nights away. Another name on his list bled into the snow after three nights. Cain wasn't only coming to kill this time. He had a message to deliver.