"What happened?" Blaze asked, not sure if she wanted to know.

"He was with me for two weeks when I was out of it, and never left me until he was sure I could handle it on my own," Ty admitted. He had awoken a few times since he was moved to the shack by the water. The majority of his time in Italy under his father, he didn't remember. That was one of the side-effects of the Curse, that one's memory, unless consistently fueled by the Curse, was lost. He didn't know if he had killed someone, but apparently he had told Cole while still on the Curse that he hadn't.

"He...he had always looked after me. He took care of me," Ty muttered. Cole had caught him right before he had gone on his first assignment. He had kept him human. One thing that set the brothers apart was that Ty had never experienced the pain of being broken in or the thrill of killing that his other older brothers had mentioned (on the Curse, it would have felt thrilling. In real life he didn't think it would be fun. He remembered as a young boy, being told to pick up a knife for training.

"Do it now," his father had commanded him. Every other one of his cousins had done it willingly and passed the test with flying colours. Though the blade was beautiful in its own way, with the dull light adding a glint to the cool metal, he did not want to pick it up. He was too young to start on the Curse, but not too late for training. It was the morning of his first day, in his first training exercise. If he didn't pick up the blade, his opponent would slice at him and he would have no way of defending himself. But he also didn't want to hurt his opponent, who was a cousin that was also starting training that day.

"why?" he asked his father, looking up at the man with grey and black hair with genuine curiosity. He didn't understand why they had to fight, why they had to train, and why they had to kill. He was the first one to ever openly question his father's judgement, at least in this generation. At least, he was the first one to do so that was still alive in the seconds afterward. Maybe the man had an affinity for his sons after all. As his father brought his arm down toward the boy, that thought changed. He had no compassion, and it was Ty's duty to be a merciless killing machine like his father and brothers before him. He was always the sickly child out of the bunch, and the weakest link in the family. Ty ducked and hid his head behind his arms, anticipating the hard strike to the face, but it never came.

He looked through his fingers to see that a hand had caught the man's wrist. Their father's fist. As it was not part of the training process, such action would be seen as disrespectful. People in the training halls had been killed for less. No doubt they would both get beaten for this. He had never been hit before, but that was because he was too young before-they had always reminded him that it was no good training young because they could irreversibly harm themselves, and then they would be no use.

"Simon Cole Azori, what do you think you are doing?" the tall man growled and threw him against the wall and out of the way of Ty. He would deal with the older boy later. The rest of his kin, his cousins, looked on listlessly. There was little honour in killing, but even less for disobeying their father. The man raised his hand again and brought it down once more. Ty flinched back, but still felt no impact. He lowered his arms completely this time and saw his older brother's arms forming an x above his head as he stood in front of the boy.

"If you lay a hand on him, I will personally end you. This goes for now and forever," his older brother told their father. Ty's mouth dropped open, as did those of his cousins. His voice had been strong, solid, and lifeless like his father's. This couldn't be out of compassion, could it? Azoris had no hearts.

"Then you'll receive his punishment for him," the man warned, picking up the boy and holding him up to his face by the neck. He squeezed and the boy's airways were constricted. The boy's eyes didn't widen with fear, nor did he gasp for air like some pathetic child. His eyes seemed dead, and they stared hard into his father's eyes, challenging his authority.

"So be it," Cole responded hoarsely. Ty shivered as the man chuckled and set the boy down and walked away without another word, letting the training lesson ensue.

Ty had never thanked him for that, and now, he may never have a chance. He never thanked Cole for getting him to the United States and keeping him out of trouble as much as possible. And now, he might not have the chance.

"You said that in past tense," Blaze whispered. Her heart froze in her chest as he met her eyes. There was something wrong. Why hadn't they come together? He should have been here by now. He said he would catch up. She could feel tears welling behind her eyes but refused to let them fall. She hadn't gotten the complete story yet. Maybe he was just a little sidetracked.

"I don't think Cole told you...I mean, he doesn't know what I'm about to tell you. We have a connection, as brothers. He is able to track me down by thinking about what I would have done, because he knows me well. I track his whereabouts differently," Ty said, trying to distract her for a moment. Nothing of what he knew was clear, to be exact.

"I...shit, this is the first time I'm telling anyone this, aside from-nevermind. Just...I get glimpses of his life. His thoughts. Other people's too, but I've been able to focus on his when I need to," he interrupted himself. Every time he re-started his argument, it seemed to throw Blaze off a bit. She wished he would just get to the point and tell her what happened.

"Thing is, his have stopped. I can't locate him. Even when I was on the Curse, and before, when I was in a foster home, I could get glimpses of where he was, right before waking up. I can't always control it, but my dreams always end with that glimpse. It lets me know he's still alive. I've seen his life, his pain, his suffering, his helplessness. But now I see nothing. I haven't for a few weeks. Not since we parted. There's...there's a chance that he's gone. But he could still be alive," Ty explained. The way he phrased the last part of the last sentence, he didn't much believe his words to be true.

There was so much for Blaze to take in, she had to pick and choose the information she brought out of the conversation. Now that Ty was with her, she could ask him about his abilities later. She couldn't imagine Cole's pain, and didn't want to think about seeing it second-hand either. He was hardly helpless, it had always seemed to her. The question was, why couldn't he see him? Couldn't it be because the kid had just come off of some hard drug? That's what she figured the Curse was like. Cole had told her that coming off of it could be extremely disorienting.

"Why did you separate?" she asked him, her voice remaining strong and hiding her worry well. Blaze had been fiddling with her tools, spinning them between her fingers but not actually making anything. It gave her hands something to do, and it was a way for her to fuel her anxiety into motion, perhaps to relieve some of it physically from her body.

"Your strength inspired him," he sighed. She could tell that he was reluctant, and even a bit bitter, when saying that. As if it was her fault that he couldn't see him with whatever tracking abilities he had. Blaze frowned and was about to say something to defend herself, but Ty shook his head and gave her a weak smile to show her that he didn't blame her for it all.

"He said he had a meeting with our father," Ty grimaced.

There was something oddly comforting about remembering the streets and alleyways of his hometown as if he had never left. That feeling of familiarity and warmth washed over Cole as he made his way to his family's accommodation. There was nothing warm and fuzzy about his past in Italy, but the cobblestone and dark shadows cast by the buildings welcomed him nonetheless. He strode silently as always, keeping himself next to the buildings and hidden within the shadows, letting his feet do the work of remembering where to go.

The Azoris had lived underground for centuries, since the first man went mad with power and began working as a mercenary and an assassin. His bedroom as a child had been a cell, and that cell had consisted of a stony floor. No window, no piece of wood to call a bed, and no blanket to cover himself when the stones went cold. It was uncommon for many Azori children to survive under the conditions they were given. Living until one was old enough to train was an achievement all by itself. Not only did the conditions give strength and endurance to the survivors in the tombs, it also provided the areas with natural fortifications. No one could sneak into the compounds without a guard knowing of his presence. Cole wasn't no one, though. After having lived and explored the area, he knew passageways even his father had not discovered. Often for sneaking around when he was supposed to be in his cell, he was disciplined. Using a cat of nine tails with shards of glass and splintered wood and barbed wire. He could see now, though, that all his 'exploring' had paid off.

He crept through the compound, keeping his breath as silent as his footsteps. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, but once they had, he continued onwards and evaded hallways with guards in them. On the rare occasion that there was a guard in the hallway he needed to get through to see his father, he put a hand over their mouth and knocked them out with a single stroke to the back of the neck. They were all trained, as kids, but Cole had always trained the hardest. He had been chosen by his father to be the successor to the head of the family, even though he was not the oldest. He knew how to sneak up on those who specialized in stealth.

He stepped into his father's office, which consisted of a fancy-looking wooden desk with drawers full of records, kill jobs and hired work. If a policeman found this room, they would have enough evidence to convict them for centuries. However, that would only happen if all of them were dead already and didn't have the ability to guard the compound. The door shut silently behind him, all but the 'click' of metal on metal.

"Simon, I'd be lying if I said it's a surprise to see you," a man said as he turned around in the chair. There in front of him sat a man with slicked back black and grey hair that was long enough to reach his neck. The man sported a clean-shaven face and a black shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. His father always considered himself a working man, but one of class nonetheless. Cole never saw where the class was in killing another human being. Had he killed before? Yes. Only when necessary? He wished that were true. Under the influence of the curse, he killed who he was assigned to kill, and he would be lying if he said it was joyless. The thrill of the game was in the chase and it began with a shot of the Curse which pulsed like adrenaline through his veins. All this was behind him now.

"I want you to leave Ty alone. Leave Blaze alone, and leave me alone," Cole told him with the same stone-cold determination he had used when he was younger.

"You betrayed my trust. Do so again, and there will be consequences," he added. He remembered all the extra training he had gone through, and when he had, only once, beaten his father in hand-to-hand combat. The man was older than he liked to admit and eventually his strength would diminish. Those who used the Curse too often went mad from it. His father was no exception. However, with the madness came a catch. It was an addiction that ate away at the mind and body alike. Cole had seen it in his grandfather and his father's older brothers. It had been years since he had seen his father again. The eyes of the monster before him were no different than how he had left them.

"I'm giving you one chance. Disband the compound. Get off the curse, and live your last days out in the land of the living, so you can see what is like to live. All that is here is death," he reasoned with his father. Cole didn't know if it would do any good, but he kept his voice strong, blunt and to the point. The man in front of him chuckled darkly.

"And here I was thinking that you had come home," the man mused, as if he had not heard Cole's ultimatum. Cole grit his teeth but did not allow the man to see it, because he didn't want the old man to derive satisfaction from getting on his last nerve. The angrier he got, the less aware he was. In the time it took for his father to say 'home', Cole sensed at least twenty bodies line the walls of the office. He was surrounded, but they kept their distance.

"Did I ever tell you about your mother?" he changed the subject, and Cole frowned. His mother was dead, it was always said. Most died or ran once their kids were claimed for the service. He knew his father's game, though. This was nothing more than a tool for distraction from his purpose.

"Honour my terms," he demanded, not paying much attention to the distraction technique.

"Though you may not believe it, she didn't die at my hand. I can give you her name and you can see for yourself," the man offered. Cole knew that it was a hoax. There were now thirty in the room. He wasn't fooling Cole by speaking sweet promises to him.

"You will leave them alone. I swear on my life, you'll pay if I see your men within a hundred miles of us," Cole said, doing his best to keep track of the number of people in the room. No more than thirty. He was almost hurt that his father only ordered in thirty men.

"I will honour your promises. Not on your life, but with your death," his father said nonchalantly, and flicked his wrists, looking down and reading a file he had in front of him. Cole's eyes widened as the thirty people sprung at him. Not all at once, but a representative went to cover him at each angle so he could not escape. His surprise turned to anger.

"So be it," Cole replied darkly. He blocked every punch and kick he could, every elbow and side jab, but there was always another coming. For a moment, Cole couldn't think because fists and feet were coming at him from all sides. That is when he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had always been taught to think less and let his body do the work when it came to fighting.

As he opened his eyes, he ducked a slugger to the head and rolled back into a back-handspring, landing outside of the little circle they had made around him. Using the extra space he had to move, he swung his leg up and roundhouse-kicked one of the men in the back, and one in the groin. He punched another in the gut and continued to spin around him, dodging blows from the oncoming group and adding in sharp jabs to whatever flesh he came into contact with. He had trained to be faster than anyone in the compound, aside from his father.

He let his body move for him, dancing from one foot to the other, leaping onto a hand and landing kicks to the head, strong enough to knock them out. Yes, he got a fair share of punching an kicking himself, and no doubt his body would ache later for it. If he survived this. It was unique, for the successor of the family name to die, but then again, his father had lost any sense he had. Perhaps the group would disband when his father died. The cursed name had gone on long enough.

Cole was kicked hard in the side, but he grabbed the foot and used the momentum of the kick to swing the guy into the body next to him. He ducked another's kick and went for a low sweep, catching the man off-guard. He kicked him hard in the head and as he spun, he grabbed another man who had grabbed his arm, vaulting him over his shoulder and onto the hard ground below them. Blood began to seep from behind the man's head from the impact of the stone. It wasn't Cole's intention to take a life, but he could not stop now to feel guilt.

"Very good, Simon. Keep this up and I may rethink my decision," his father mused. Guiltless, and uncaring that he was losing some of his best men. His father was mad after all. He had a sick sense of humour, but he was right to assume that Cole had lost none of his muscle-memory when it came to fighting. The only time he had been bested was when Blaze tried her tricks on him. Thinking of her, finally safe, only made him fight harder. Faster. He fought like a machine until his energy was spent. And, as it were, so was the energy of his opponents. He stood in the center of a sea of bodies, either knocked out or unable to ever get up again. Cole was breathing heavily, but he lowered his arms because there was no one left in the room except for him and his father. His body ached and he wanted to fall. He'd been hit in the back of the head, and black dots were spotting his vision, but he refused to go down. He wouldn't let his knees bend under the weight of his aching body. His father would never see him quake. He spit out some blood that had collected in his mouth from getting hit in the jaw, and he turned away from the man who had taught him how to fight. How to live as a dead man.

"I will kill you the next time I see you," he told the man, who only chuckled darkly.

"A true Azori," the man responded. Cole froze for a moment, then headed for the way out. He wasn't like his father. He wasn't his father. He wasn't heartless. He wasn't. That's when he felt a harsh, familiar pain slice into his back. The leather of the cat of nine tails ripped through his thin shirt and the glass lodged itself in his back. As the man behind him pulled back on the whip, Cole was yanked back and fell to the ground. He rolled to his side and managed to kneel before he felt the whip wrap around him again, this time, tighter.

"Don't walk away from me, boy. Never turn your back on me. You'll never again get the chance." Cole swallowed the remaining blood in his mouth, feeling the metallic coppery liquid leave the back of his throat. He had not felt the whip in a very long time. Forty lashes, that had always been his punishment. But forty would kill a man. So, thirty nine, plus one for good luck. Cole had never died from it before, and he was determined to stay alive through this coming one. For the most part, he was able to stay silent through the tightenings of the whip as the glass shards cut into him. It had wrapped around his arms, so he couldn't break free of it without getting more entangled in it and sending the shards deeper into his skin.

On the thirty-ninth time, Cole felt his breath slip out of him, and he fell forward onto the ground. After shivering as blood ran down his back, upper arms, chest and sides, he stopped shivering and closed his eyes. The last thing he felt was the blood dribble out of his mouth, down his chin and onto the floor.

The man dropped the whip and pulled the boy's head up, placing two fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse.

"Dammit, boy, I wanted to have more fun before you left this world," the man scowled and tossed the boy's lifeless body back down onto the floor.

((More to come soon.))