Acquire target. Inhale. Exhale to natural pause. Confirm sight picture… Apply pressure.

CRACK!

He angled the scoped rifle lower to confirm that the target lay unmoving after the shot. It was a rare occurrence that more than one shot was needed and very unlikely to be the case here. But a few seconds to observe the target now could prevent the need to search for it later. He triggered the the Life- detection enchantment on the scope to display the targets otherwise ethereal life force through the lens. While the body lay unmoving, he was not satisfied until the red glow surrounding it began to disburse. Confirming his first shot had been lethal. The target lay face down, so identity verification would have to be done on sight. Delaying verification and therefore payment an hour or so to reach the far side of the canyon was fine. He would need physical contact to absorb the soul power reserved for him as the sole attacker. All but that little bit of its soul given to him as the victor would make the trip to whichever afterlife it related to. Must be realities way of population control. Rewarding the killer or killers upon death.

Eventually I made it up to his location. Throughout my little hike I could here the faint echoes of automatic weapons fire bouncing off the walls of the miles long valley. However far away, I could still distinguish the staccato burst of a Kalashnikov from the more controlled pops of an M-series assault rifle. Two shots, pause, two shots. Controlled pairs. Then the occasional burst of a M240, probably the bravo variant, but without seeing the weapon it was mere conjecture. All completely and deliberately, by design, different than the custom made bolt-action rifle I carried at a somewhat casual version of the low-ready position. Not really expecting further conflict, but prepared for it.

Its' simple slim design had elicited laughs in the past. Even the caliber wasn't very large, the rounds seemingly ridiculous with their stretched-out length. Right up until I fired it. Some hunters prefer a silenced weapon, using the silent death as a scare tactic or to stay clear of authorities. I preferred the roar of a tyrannosaurus. The sudden bark of destruction made audible with a long lasting echo. The juxtaposition of its looks and sound just made it that much better. But of course, I had a silencer too. Just rarely used it.

My idle thoughts on firearms ended as I came upon my target. The body lay on its' stomach, face down. A tidy hole through one ear and a cranial cavern of gore where the back right of its' skull used to inhabit. I flipped the body over with a booted toe, dried blood caked on half of the face, but was still recognizable enough for a positive ID.

Kneeling down to place a hand over the dead lizard-man's heart, I willed the soul energy through my arm and into my core. Followed quickly by a command for his possessions to be stored in an extra-dimensional storage secreted away within my body. Too many times have rings gone missing or been taken. Not once has my ribcage ever been searched, let alone removed. Or at least without surgery. Four ribs replaced with enchanted rune- encased wood and enough arcane redundancies to make up for the loss of one or all of them. I was promised that should they all be destroyed, removed or malfunction in any way, that the storage could travel unmolested to any number of other rune covered bones throughout my skeletal system. Expensive and painful at first and more than a little paranoid. But haven't lost my wallet since.

One of the more expensive enchantments among the financially ruinous lot was the ability to identify and sort through everything at will. Very handy at times, but utterly wasted sorting through the dirty robes just taken off of his target. Aforementioned robes, sixteen mana gems about the size of a marble, probably ten credits a piece. For 160cr I couldn't replace the round just recently used. Though it would pay for a meal or three, depending on where he went. Small fixed blade knife, also dirty. A few scraps of paper scribbled with lizard script… and of fucking course he had sand in his pockets.

I removed the sand and robes from storage, flinging away as I stood and took out my smart phone. I snapped three pictures from his naked torso up. Making sure to capture his face as best as possible. Admittedly the last one taken was an unhelpful and bloody cranial cavity of gore when it came to identification. What it did was verify that the target was in fact very dead. If I couldn't show proof then the mission could not be completed. No completion, no pay. No pay meant stagnation. And stagnation meant higher risk of death. There may always be someone or something stronger, faster or smarter, but that was no reason to willing allow that number to increase through inaction.

Almost immediately after I sent them I received a reply acknowledging receipt of my message and completion of my mission. Thats another 250,000cr to my name. I've talked with others in the guild and few if any receive a response so quickly. Though no one else dropped a years worth of bloody, extra-dimensionally preserved targets in the middle of the lobby at Headquarters for kill confirmation. Afterward Guild Intelligence never second guessed whether my target was truly dead ever again. Or it could be that they just really like me…

The trip back proved uneventful. A short hike back to the old Toyota I bought and the application of a few magic decals, now that I didn't need to worry about alerting everyone in the area of my presence. Showcasing the Guild's stylized golden leaf-shaped blade, tip pointed skyward as gnarled roots attempted to drag the rest of it under. Encircled in a knot-work of branches over a so called "twilight" sky. For the life of me I could never figure out the meaning behind the imagery. Flat, unrelenting looks were all anyone ever received when asked, from those higher up in the organization. Which was better than the borderline hostile glares exhibited if asked what the unseen hilt must looked like. Whatever their hang-ups were regarding the symbolism or unseen parts. The image was feared and respected worlds over. Few could afford to openly oppose Earth's oldest guild, Twilight's Blade. Not once on the trip back to the Airport in Kandahar was I stopped intentionally. Traffic, especially when made worse by the presence of armed checkpoints never seemed to worry about who it offended. The soldiers and police of the multi-national task force always did what they could for me, but traffic is and will always be an uncaring bitch.

Soon enough though I was pulling up to one of the Guild's many private jets on a secluded area of the airport's tarmac. A well dressed attendant moved to help me with the door and I assume from prior occasions to take the keys of the Toyota. I waved him off, not needing the help. Before my hand left the trucks handle after closing the door it vanished into my storage space. It might not be the newest, nicest, or even cleanest vehicle, but it came in handy in areas such as Kandahar and the rest of Afghanistan. It could handle the terrain, it blended in nicely without the decals; plus I didn't have to spend extra time scanning and looking it over for major faults or sabotage.

"Convenient." The attendant said with a half smile.

I chuckled and countered; "So to speak. Though I consider it more pragmatic." With a theatrical snap of my fingers held just above shoulder level. The dusty tan fatigues and boots were instantly replaced by brown Italian loafers, a pair of clean and pressed tan slacks along with a white collarless button shirt; sleeves already rolled neatly to just below the elbow and the last 2 buttons undone.

"This is what I would consider convenient." I replied with a full smile. Now that I was among friendlies, I immediately began to relax. Never completely though, which made the following scene inside the jet that much more surprising.

I heard a muffled "show off" from someone I couldn't see. To which I smiled as I headed up the short stairs, past a professionally dressed pair of what I considered combat flight attendants. Although old and prestigious, the guild had a very lax dress code. The close cropped brown haired man to the left dressed in all black combat fatigues and the woman on the right in a bright blue and white silk robes; like those of various Asian martial artists. Her gleaming straight black hair and narrow almond eyes made me think she was Asian or of Asian decent. But that was as far I tried to go down that rabbit hole. Though to be fair I couldn't have said where the man was from either. North America, Australia or Europe, anything more specific and you are asking the wrong guy. You do not necessarily need to excel in anthropology to find your target. Spells and technology are much better at it anyway. Furthermore if you kill the wrong guy you can just blame whoever made it instead.

Now I swear as I made my way to the back of the plane I passed no one. As I've said, I was beginning to relax. But hell, we were still in fucking Kandahar. The moment I grab the bottle of whatever amber colored delight they had for my enjoyment was the exact moment she chose to attack. Without warning she suddenly appeared behind and to my left. The feeling of arcane energies being released and then gathered.

"Pour me a glass too, wouldn't you?" the precise, cultured voice requested.

I reacted reflectively, without the need for deliberation. That is what experience has painfully taught me over the years. Whipping around to face the would-be threat I had a pistol in my right hand before I had completed the turn. Two shots off as I back-tracked the source of the voice. Now facing the woman, my brain processes the scene. Immediately I realize that the runic-rounds have been stopped by an alarmingly familiar barrier, the result of a powerful mage's conjured shield. I am able to confirm that the voice belongs to a woman. Long black dress, elegant and on the formal side, feet hidden beneath the folds. Blond hair, blue eyes set in her strong Scandinavian face. Full red lips portraying the briefest upward tilt. Calm and poised, manicured eyebrow raised in question. One hand held gracefully, palm toward me having stopped both of my bullets. The familiarity sparking a sense of betrayal, before recognition finally hits me. HARD.

I've already stated that determining someone's ethnicity is not my most valued skill. But when you've spent twenty some years of your life with a person you tend to learn a thing or ten about them. Only now do her words and actions catch up to me. Polite question, preemptive defensive ward as evidenced by the brief gathering of energy. Which occurred after the release of whatever transportation or cloaking spell she used to surprise me. She then made no moves, let alone something offensive. And I knew she could have. Whether it be fire or ice, she could have leveled the damn plane had she wanted to.

I standby my quick reaction and use of force, in another situation it could have saved my life. But here and now? I also felt somewhat foolish, followed by increasingly irritated as more of the various guild personnel came rushing in. Only to find me standing there, gun pointed in one hand and the other held back and over my shoulder ready to hurl the now magically imbued bottle of whiskey. I didn't know what the glowing arcane energies flowing through the bottle would ultimately do to the taste, but I doubted it would be positive change. Me standing there like a crazy person, while my beloved wife and daughter of the Guild Grandmaster sat serene and detached. As if she hadn't orchestrated the whole damn thing.

"Sir! Calm down before this escalates! I don't know what the problem is, but I'm sure it can be resolved before this goes too far. First, you need to put away your… weapons." The alarmed, but placating tone of the male guard in the black fatigues began. My dislike for his tone must have showed on my face. Because his female counterpart in the martial arts robes tensed, hands now holding a spear at the ready position .

Fucking woman! Always with the damn jokes!

"Argh! Damn it, woman. You are going to get someone killed one of these days." I huffed angrily. But I did set down the bottle and store the colt 1911 I had drawn and admittedly fired.

Sitting down I told the guards everything was okay and that I wasn't actually as crazy as she, waving at my wife, made me seem. To which I got a giggle from said wife and looks of disbelief and uncertainty from said guards. Instead of heading to the small utilitarian area between the main cabin and the cockpits where they would usually have sat, they chose to take seats near to where they were. Making it obvious that they didn't yet trust or believe me.

"Look." I sighed. "I'm not the jerk here. Vanja started it." I smirked as I said it, so they would understand the lack of sincerity in the childish remark. By now I was calm enough to enjoy the joke. Smiling and shaking my head ruefully I continued.

"Besides, I doubt she would need help dealing with me as it is. I just hadn't expected her to pop into existence behind me."

"So that's your excuse for shooting at your poor, defenseless wife?" Vanja asked in disbelief. Her acting perfect. Poor? Not a fucking chance, from either before or after we were wed. Defenseless? As an armed nuke…

"Here I am trying to surprise my war-weary husband after a long campaign and he responds by attacking me." I just snorted in reply. Then took the time to explain what had actually happened. The spear lady had a silent giggle-fit by the end, while the commando laughed at near full volume.

"Well, your acting is as convincing as ever. Did you really just pop in to frighten your 'war-weary husband' or was there something else?" I asked.

"No, nothing new. I was bored, so I checked in with Guild Intel and they said you had wrapped up your last target, so with a simple divination I figured out when and where you would leave from and ported in. It's been two months, Michael. I had to make sure you didn't forget me."

"Pft, as if I could ever forget you my love. I was just curious is all. Like you said, I have been somewhat out of the loop for a while. How have you been?"

"Bored." She replied. Lips pursed in a mock pout.

"Ha ha, yeah I gathered that much."

"Okay fine, I went to a few plays, talked to friends, meditated and blew stuff up at the range." She answered as if exasperated by the conversation.

Acting was by far her favorite pastime. Today it seemed she was going for spoiled college student or bored housewife, or maybe it was a combination. I didn't really know. Simple as they seemed on the surface, they were often deeper and more complex then many others actual personalities. The clueless, absent-minded facades she favored were the most prevalent. She had a wonderful and sophisticated sense of humor and was incredibly intelligent. And of course she knew it. For her the idea of a near genius level intellect acting "ditsy" or God forbid "valley girl-esque", was the apex of humor.

"How has Arthur been? We talked a few times, but he was always so eager to get back to meditation, training or research into which class he would take. I've have never seen a 17 year old who looked forward to meditating when given a choice. I mean seriously, we have what? Like several billion in credits alone. He has always been responsible enough that we have never once stopped his monthly allotment. So he's at least as wealthy as any millionaire playboy could want. But has he spent any of it? Nope. He saves it all except for training tools, equipment, weapons, armor and books. You know what I spent money on as a teen? Whatever I could. Literally any useless gadget, game or whatever that I could afford. I was poor and still lived more frivolously. "

I may have sounded a touch exasperated by the end of my long winded rant, but in truth we were both very proud of him. I may not have been able to relate to him in regards to how we each spent our respective youths. But I could undeniably say that he was the better man for it. It was just something we liked to joke about in mock complaint. In reality, having such an intelligent(from his mother's side), driven, responsible and disciplined(also from his mother's side) son was one of the greatest prides of our lives.

Vanja snorted then said, "Yes, let's bitch about him not being frivolous enough. I think we should be thankful that he isn't like a certain man was at his age. Besides, we've talked about it before. You grew up with no expectation or consideration about what class you would take when you turned 18. As much as your parents loved you, they didn't exactly push you."

"Yeah well, the Grocer and Mechanic classes are nor exactly exciting. Practical and necessary, not exciting. All it did was label them and ensure they were all but stuck in there perspective careers."

"It also ensured that they had the proper knowledge to be employed and never went hungry." She retorted reasonably.

"I'm just saying for a "frivolous" and somewhat wild young man it wasn't something I yearned for. Not like a unreasonably wealthy young lady I know. One who had parents with much, much more exciting careers." I said pointedly. Not giving up the chance for a little harmless poke.

"Which is why I better appreciate the perceived pressure he may feel he is under. Not only are his parents successful, one of his grandfathers runs a guild, no, I dare say, the Guild. While the grandmother of the pear is one of the most powerful mages on Earth. And while your parents might not be members of the elite, they are two of the most honest, genuine people I've ever met. They are might as well be the personification of goodwill and humility. So I may not be able to relate to the last part, I dwelt with powerful people, not "good" people. Which reinforces my main point. That is a lot for a young man to feel the need to live up too."

"You are forgetting the core of it." I stated.

"Oh really?" she asked, already doubting whatever I said next to be true.

"Above all else…"

"Yes?"

"He enjoys it." I finished with a smile. This earned a smile from Vanja as well.

"He truly does." Her smile transformed and her gaze trailed off as she thought our boy, soon to be man.

By now we were some thirty thousand feet in the air, heading northwest for the first stopover in Europe, then from there west over the Atlantic to Maine. Then for the final stretch to home, Seattle, Washington. I couldn't really tell with out checking in with the pilots, but I assumed we were somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea. I had a faint smile of my own as I thought again of the conversation we had had hundreds of times already. Why we kept rehashing the same old things I couldn't say, probably just because of our love and pride for a young man that encompassed the best of both of us. The son of a "frivolous" Assassin class old military veteran and a beautiful and genius Elemental Mage class. Those were the last thoughts to ever cross my synapses, before the world flashed and our corporeal bodies, along with everything in sight were obliterated.