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Rated: ASR · Other · Dark · #1691902
The tools of the trade, the price of the game.
Fragility

In one hand, I fight with my gun. I strike from afar and without notice. Quickly and sometimes loudly I dispose of the enemy. True, fast, hard I bring justice to those without. Deliverance to those who would take away deliverance. A warrior of old and new fighting for the sake of others. This side though, comes at a price. Each bullet, each strike, each heart I break I must take away a piece of myself. Not in the literal sense, but with each death, I kill myself a little more. Recompense for the life I took, a reminder to how fragile life really is.

In the other hand, I fight with my sword. I strike close and rarely with warning. Silently, stealthily, I dispatch the enemy. The only notice of my arrival is the shriek of pain and death and the group of lifeless bodies. Cunning, strategic, ruthlessly I claim that which they hold without regard. A killer of light and dark, fighting for the sheer thrill of it all. This side though, has its cost. With each drop of blood I spill, I gain that much more weight upon my shoulders. Not in this physical realm, but that each soul I claim, adds on to my own. Retribution for the senseless killing, a memory of how humans take life for granted.

A fighter for hire. A contract killer. A holy assassin. I've been called many names, many things. One word that sends shivers down my spine, a single group of letters that completely unnerves me. Hero. Something a young girl, no older than 5 or 6 years of age said to me in a whisper through my ear. I held her as I shot the man behind the wheel of the speeding vehicle, oblivious to her standing in the road a moment prior. Before the bullet had even penetrated the windshield I had holstered my gun and drew my sword. The car peeled in two before my blade, both going their separate ways. Then a clamor and a thunder and then a new word, one to which I was accustomed. Murderer. This girl's mother lay dying, holding her baby, all at the hands of my gun and my sword. Life, so fragile and precious, yet taken for granted, by all.
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