Arthur landed the plane a few distances away and alighted, his blood boiling with the revelation he'd just had a few minutes ago. He spotted the place he was looking for a few distances away, a place he used to know like the back of his hands as a kid.
His uncle had always brought him here after the death of his mother for him to be trained in the art of fighting after his father asked it of him as a favor. The man had made Arthur swear an oath of secrecy not to let anyone know about the existence of the place, and not even his father knew this place existed.
Now Arthur knew why. The Cabaretti had been functional all that time, and his uncle kept it from his father, who was his best friend. Arthur couldn't help but wonder what other secrets his uncle hid in his closet and wondered if he should go looking. But common sense told him he wasn't ready for all that onslaught of truth, and he might not like what he found out. So he tossed the thought aside.
This place held some of his most beautiful memories as well as hurtful ones, and now those memories were about to be tainted forever. He fought against the pain he felt at what he had to do and against the guilt arising from knowing he was the one bringing this entire place to the ground.
He'd have left it be, knowing who owned it. But the fact that thousands of his employees—good men and women who had worked their blood, sweat, and tears to help the company grow long before he was born—lay dead made what he had to do a necessity. And Arthur wasn't one to let go of people who hurt the people he cared about.
He took a deep breath, switched off his emotions, transformed into his lycan form, and bounced off the ground. He silently rammed through the forest, which led to the well-hidden base, praying he didn't see his uncle here. Because he didn't want to have to kill him too, something he'd have to do if he did.
The sentries who kept watch at the base had had a long and boring day, so they were lax on their watch. After all, the place hadn't been attacked ever, so it was one of the safest places they could think of.
They laughed as they joked, exchanging stories and cigarettes to ward off the cold seeping into their limbs. They weren't a fighting force; they were only here to alert the occupants inside the base of any trouble or danger. Their only offensive powers were their voices as banshees; the sound waves could erupt the hearts and brains of anyone they were directed at, and they were specifically picked out by the head of the Cabaretti for a noble cause—so they were told.
In their relaxed state, they didn't immediately see Arthur coming. He was right before them and moving swiftly from one position to another like a phantom, leaving deep gashes across their necks before they could alert the others or even react.
Done with the rest, Arthur came and towered over the last one, who had stood in shock, staring at the blurry figure disappearing from one of his colleagues to another as he took them down. He had been the last to be recruited, picked up from the slums, where he was considered an outcast and a reject because of the things he could do with his voice.
But here, he felt more at home than he ever had in his entire life, and he swore to help the Cabaretti in any way he could. Here he found friends, here he found family, and here he found peace. He thought he'd be able to help keep the place safe from intruders, but the intruder before him wasn't one he wanted to mess with.
Arthur quietly growled at the guy, smelling all his emotions. They lodged in his heart like a boulder, but he came here with a promise to his dead workers. So he couldn't afford to go back on his word. The man, on the other hand, had watched Arthur go through his comrades some seconds ago, so it was a shock to him that before he could even gather his wits about him, the same terrifying creature was right in front of him. He felt something trickle down his legs but didn't have the luxury of feeling humiliated.
Arthur's brows furrowed as he smelled something foul in the air. He sniffed about him, smelled the stench of piss with a heavy dose of terror, and smiled at the man. But the problem was that the smile didn't promise anything good.
The guy perceived danger and slowly held his hand up in surrender, his knees knocking against each other in terror, ready to abandon his owner. He knew he daren't act the hero now, or else it might cost him his life, and he just realized he didn't want to die. His power had always given him an edge over everyone else, but today, that power was insignificant in the face of one he acknowledged was greater.
"Banshee for guards," Arthur said, breaking the silence as he studied him.
"Uncle must be terribly paranoid."
The confused man first nodded, noticed his blunder, and then shook his head "no." Arthur chuckled mirthlessly and calmly ordered the man.
"Scream"
The man didn't wait to be told twice and opened his mouth wide, giving the best his throat could offer. He already felt guilty that he hadn't alerted the others to what was happening outside when he could.
On the one hand, he saw it as an opportunity to rectify his mistake and give the people inside a fighting chance. On the other hand, he considered that maybe—just maybe—Arthur would spare his life if he followed his orders and gave his best shot. And on another, he had always been one of the best in the base, with his sound waves being among the best. So he banked on that and was happy that he could hurt Arthur with it, even paralyzing him, until his people came and took care of him.
Arthur saw right through him but gave him a minute anyway, during which he heard the scurrying of feet, signifying the awareness he wanted everyone there to have, achieved.
Besides that, he wanted the man to die knowing he gave it his all and tried his best. It just wasn't good enough. Arthur felt the sound waves trying to force their way into his eardrums and smiled. The guy couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than he was, so his soundwaves against him were a failure before they began. But every dying man was entitled to grasp at straws if he so wished, so he let him go on before placing a casual hand on his shoulder.
"Atta boy," he said, smiling.
With that, his hand shot out and lashed at the man's throat, giving him a gash. The man stood a little while staring at Arthur with resentment, disbelief, horror, and finally resignation as his life slowly left him.
"All that performance, for... nothing?" He gurgled through the blood flooding his mouth.
He stared into his assailant's eyes and saw them devoid of the evil he had expected to see. He saw pity in there instead, with a mixture of determination.
"Why?" He gurgled again.
"My dead workers in Atlanta, I smell them on you." Arthur softly growled.
Realization dawned on the guy's face, followed by regrets. He had been among the people who went there. His sound waves were one of the many that killed them before the place was burned down. He tried to sigh but fell, dead.
Arthur wanted to stay with the guy for some reason, but asked himself, "What for?" With that in mind, he was gone in a flash.
He felt somewhat bad about the guy he just killed. But he had come here with the promise to his dead employees never to let even an ant escape, so he couldn't afford to be sentimental. He shook the guilt away and faced the army heading his way with triple fury. One for his workers, one for his uncle, and the other for the guy he just sent to hell.