He remembered her tears when she heard he’d joined the gang, she was dead by the time he became their warlord His time with the Demons taught him the most valuable lesson of Sanctuary He learned about blood, and death
Cade was so talented then, talented in the harsh passion of the violent The street brought out the blood in all its miserable inhabitants, but some like Cade were born for blood and shed it and lost it with equal calm
He called it the waterfall, though he was eighteen before he ever saw a real one. It was the moment when you either let go and hit until you fell or you were pulled off and fear never entered into it at all That was the mark of the talent, because some could do it when they were backed in a comer, all could do it sometimes, but Cade would do it every time
He wondered if any of the Demons were still there probably not, they were either dead, or they had gotten out and would never come back What did it matter^ They were all punks anyway Still, some of them might remember him.
He laughed thinking about it, but there was no humor m that sound Wouldn’t they be surprised to see him agam^ The local boy come back in triumph He had made good by Sanctuary standards He was nch beyond most men’s imagination, and powerful, very powerful
He had turned his talent into a very profitable art The art of death. For a fee he killed He was more than an assassin and less than d mur- derer. For he did kill with passion, but never pleasure He killed in the name of mankind to free his victims from lies