The soft clinking sound was almost soothing as he slowly shook the tumbler in his hand.
The would be others, he knew it. Somehow they always managed to find him. It really didn’t matter, he could always feel them way before they tried to surprise him.
The clinking filled the room, echoing against the bare stone walls. It made them feel strangely alive in a somewhat twisted way.
He found himself staring at the fresh bloodstains on his otherwise impeccable white shirt. Was he getting too old for this? No, not old… just very tired.
The clinking sound was getting weaker as the ice cubes melted into the amber liquid. His weary eyes looked into their fading shapes, seeking an answer he knew he wouldn’t find there.
Once he saw it as a challenge, an adventure, the ultimate test of his abilities. He was much younger then, and very, very foolish. Now his skills were so ingrained he no longer had to think to use them, his body just knew how to move and where to strike.
The hairs at the back of his neck tingled. They were here. He emptied the glass in a single gulp and calmly changed into a new shirt.
He had become the one to beat, a target for everyone brave or stupid enough to come for him looking for vengeance or to earn a reputation, some even wanted both.
The empty glass lay silently on the table. They were very near now, silently –or so they thought– closing in on him. He put out the single candle and waited in the dark for another group of fools who were already dead but didn’t know it yet.
Yes, he was tired of killing, but that was now his curse. He wanted to stop, simply fade into legend and live a quiet life… but they just wouldn’t let him.