I stalked cautiously behind the man, sneakers silently treading on the ground. My sword was grasped firmly in my right hand, glowing golden, its blade as sharp as cheese wire. I was keeping my distance, but I was making sure that I wouldn't lose sight of him. I could not afford to mess this up.

There was an annoying drizzle in the town, the kind where the rain would not affect your vision, but annoyingly drip all over you, just enough to make your clothes moist and sticky. It was also enough to make shallow puddles appear in the lowered parts of the alley floor. But the rain was the least of my worries.

My target was turning left. I followed. We were now walking along a bumpy cobblestone pavement, and soon after, my target stopped in front of a house.

It was a house set in the middle of many others along the pavement, five smooth stone steps leading up to the intimidating mahogany front door. It had four beautiful French windows and a slightly gothic touch to its exterior. Two stone statues of sad angels stood on either side of the door, bringing the state of the house to a gloomy mood. My target rapped on the door smartly.

The door opened with a groan, and a hand beckoned him in.

There wasn't much for me to do after, perhaps, wait outside until my target exited the house. I chose a regular wooden bench on the pavement opposite the house and sat watching the cars and people pass by, while keeping a sharp eye on the house. Nothing.

Four hours had passed and I had reduced my sword back to its thumb-drive form, tapping it impatiently on my knee while I sent a few pigeons scattering with a blast of air from my hand. The people walking around me were engaged in rapid-fire Spanish conversation. The rain had long subsided and all that it had left behind were a few shallow pools.

Unable to bear the boredom that was slowly eating away at my sanity, I stood up and approached a puddle of water. As I summoned a strong blast of air that knocked the water out of the depression in the ground, a fine mist to started to spread around me.

I tossed a golden and slightly dented golden drachma into the mist, hurriedly reciting, "O Isis, blah blah blah, Chiron."

The drachma dissolved into the mist and the image of a half-man, half-horse appeared before me.

"Hey, Chiron, are you sure this is my target? The meeting was supposed to end two hours ago. It's half past nine now. This is beginning to be unsettling." My tone was impatient, and my facial expression was likewise.

"Yes, Ryan. Patience. Just stay alert and follow him," Chiron replied in a soothing, deep voice.

I rolled my eyes and waved my hand through the mist, watching the water particles float away. I continued disturbing the same flock of pigeons, zipping and unzipping my jacket repeatedly to make time pass quicker.

Four minutes later and the same man stepped out of the door, tipping his sleek, black homburg hat politely in the direction of the owner of the house. The door closed behind him and he descended the steps, heading back the way he came from.

He walked briskly away from the house, and I crossed the road hurriedly to catch up to him, avoiding the cars that were zooming about. I put myself at a safe distance behind him, my feet hovering a few inches above the ground to avoid splashing any puddles along the pavement. But the man stopped walking.

I was caught by surprise and dug my heels into the ground, nearly tripping over and sending myself crashing into my target. I stabilized myself, and regained composure. I looked at my target.

His figure was silhouetted against the light of the lamp he was standing under, "I've noticed you since five hours ago. You can give up the chase now."

I uncapped my thumb-drive, the metallic input end elongating into a glowing blade once more, "I can't afford to take any chances. I'm afraid you have met your end." I took a step closer to him, gripping my sword's grip tight in my hand. No slip-ups.

"I don't think that was your assignment. You were given specific instructions, and exterminating me was not an order." His back was facing me, and he was speaking without looking at me. His dark hair peeked out of the shadows that his hat cast on his head. His voice was steady, smooth.

I was slightly taken aback by this. How did he know? But I couldn't let my guard down.

"I do not know who your are. But you are a crook, a thief and therefore a threat to me. I will do what I must."

"What you must?" The target asked with an amused tone, "Is killing really necessary?"

"If it means that a threat will be eliminated, then yes."

"I don't recall me saying that I will steal, or somehow fool you as a crook does. You are intelligent. You are wise. I can tell."

I took another step forward, the edge of my sword, Boltstream, digging into the back of his trench coat, "There's no use flattering me now. Prepare to meet your end."

"I am prepared."

I closed my eyes and thrust Boltstream as hard as I could through my target, my arm straightening all the way as the sharp end pierced through the leather of his trench coat. The horrible ripping sound of cloth and a half-hearted yell of pain were heard, and then silence.

I opened my eyes and expected to see golden dust floating around, but all that met my eyes was a torn trench coat impaled by my sword that looked like a kebab. My target!

Where was he?