Gunblade - The Rebellion of Cain

Prologue: The Dichotomy of Purpose

The distant wailing of sirens, muffled cries of anguish and even the starkly unexpected sporadic eruption of gunfire seemed to melt away from the elderly man's awareness. He sat excruciatingly still and ignored the cries of his muscles and bones which rebelled at having to hold the meditative kneeling position that had been significantly easier to maintain in his younger days. Inviting decades of arcane and intricate meditation techniques to guide him as he ascended into a state of transcendence that rivaled the most practiced Zen Masters in the world, Esai slowed his respiration in response to the attainment of the desired meditation and stillness. A thickening envelope of willed silence wrapped itself around him as he sought complete detachment from his physical body. Welcoming the wave of clarity and insight, he felt the quickening waves of tranquility and harmony embrace his river of distracting thoughts.

Pushing away the boisterous cacophony of the city that raged just outside the dilapidated and aging storefront strip mall where he resided and even the distracting mildew-like odor that emanated from the dark, cramped and dank back room he meditated in, Esai dwelled a while within the inner peace he had attained. While he would be the first to admit that he was starkly undeserving of the level of quiet and tranquility he'd attained, he encapsulated the offending and distracting thought and allowed it to pass from his mind. Despite the late hour of the evening, he found that he had emerged from his physical body and assembled a third-person view in which he could imagine without effort looking down on himself. With this level of sensory detachment, he began to expand his consciousness to sense the impending intrusion that would stir him from his reverie and plunge him back into the world of violence, harsh isolation and exile that constituted his day-to-day existence.

Running a hand across his bald, hairless pate, Esai's eyes slowly fluttered open, realizing that he was about to be visited by the unwelcome vestiges of a life that he simultaneously wished he could leave, but clung to as a means of defining his existence in the world. His near-opaque, hazel eyes peered momentarily at the lone flickering candle that cast sharp and jagged shadows across the small space from beneath a craggy brow line, decorated with intensely thick grey-haired eyebrows. Inhaling, he rose slowly, welcoming circulation back into his extremities and attempted to prepare himself for the execution of a series of solemn tasks that meant that this evening people would lose their lives.

In the veiled light of the flickering candle, he stood solemn and still, clad in the garb of ancient practitioners of discipline, focus and mastery of martial art. Draped in a loose-fitting Japanese haori with extended oversized sleeves that swallowed his hands, the fabric of the robe was rich and unyielding. The oversized buttons were fastened with precision, hinting at his ritualistic care of the traditional garb he'd chosen. With practiced, precise movements, he bent low, extinguishing the candle's flame with a calloused thumb and forefinger before emerging from the vestiges of his meditative chamber into the surprisingly rundown pawn shop. He squinted at the lights of the midnight sedans that had just pulled up in front of the large plate-glass windows of the storefront and awaited those that would darken his doorstep with the business of blood.

Moments ago, three midnight sedans growled their way through the twisting maze of the city's thoroughfares and alleyways. Shedding the bright lights and pristine highways of the downtown district and barreling aggressively to the outskirts of the city limits, the sedans cut a swerving path through the dilapidated and forlorn segments of the crime-ridden residential areas that constituted the fringes of the city's defined municipality. Moving in practiced unison, the sedans rushed their occupants to their destination without regard for traffic signals, rules of the road or even other cars or pedestrians. Like a living organism, the city seemed to hold these vehicles in high regard, giving them a wide berth to carry their passengers uninterrupted to their destination. As they screeched to a halt outside of the rundown pawn shop, even the most unsavory and predatory denizens peered with trepidation from a safe distance at the figures that slowly emerged from the cars.