If Luther had to choose which was the point of no-return. The moment he realized that he was a monster. Luther would, no doubt, choose the moment on when he pulverized the head of his own father with his fist.
Luther´s father was not a good man, but alas, Luther was not a good man either. As Luther´s first master told Luther about his waste of a father; the man had the potential but not the Talent. The Talent, the Librarian´s way of calling the unique abilities of those that understood and followed the Hercules Method, the funny disguise of the words of Cain, the First Murderer.
Those that had the talent, that could reach deep into the method, were way above the cattle that populated the planet; as the Librarian liked to say in his snobbish Englishman style.
They become part of the Murder Cult, making the Pilgrimage to the Node, wherein the presence of Cain, and the Bounded; those that would or could not control and were too powerful to be left loose; they will be trained and taught.
That was the destiny of the young Luther Strode.
However, Luther was different from the rest; in three decades since 1950, only one person understood the deep of the Method. The gift that the teachings of Cain bestowed upon those that see beyond the colored cover of the "Hercules Method" and become part of the Murder Cult.
And that would be the poor sod of Luther.
On a cold night of 1980, in Seattle, Luther meet the Librarian, and with a single punch; Luther vaporize to smithereens the head of his father, feeling freaking fine about it. It didn't help, of course, the fact that his father was an abusive and violent man, that run from home when he broke his wife´s arm and beat the hell out of Luther when he was a child.
The Librarian guided Luther for several years, making him go through the pilgrimage. A journey, that taught the boy the deepest teachings of the Method and that would test his mettle, to see if he would be part of the Cult, a Heretic that rejected the teachings or a Bounded; one that must be confined along with Cain in the Bound, as they are too dangerous or uncontrollable to be left alone.
For years, Luther accompanied the Librarian and the Binder; the one that hunted and chained the Bounded; learning more and more about the Murder Cult, until he finally ended his pilgrimage and traveled to the Node, the place where Cain and the Bounded waited for those that wanted the Mark of Cain.
Eight years of blood and murder, hunting, killing; a trail of corpses that would have nauseated even the worst warmongers in history. Pity that several historical figures were actually members of the Cult. That was a shock for Luther when he met some of those historical figures and actually learned of what happened to them.
Delilah, the Temptress, the same of the tale of Sanson and Dalilah; by the way both part of the Murder Cult; taught Luther the history of the Cult and the most subtle tricks of the Methods, power of the mind and the spirit, not only the body.
Hercules, Sanson, Joan of Arc, Fierabras, Miyamoto Musashi, Jack the Ripper, Nobunaga, El Cid, Erik Bloodaxe, Tomoe Gozen, Babayaga; the list was long and surprising. Luther meet some of them in the Node, training under their guidance.
Contrary to what Cain would have liked, Luther was different from the rest, and as more he learned about the Murder Cult, more questions he has begun to have. Questions, ideas, and words that would not fit precisely well with the rest of the Cult, however, Luther was far from being a fool and keep it for himself; learning all he could and see if even in a bloody sect like the Cult there was a loophole.
Luther was not interested in being a puppet for Cain and his whatever the fucking plan was; frankly, Luther has little idea of what he wanted to do with his life.
He only knew that he wanted to be better than this. Although, after the thousands of corpses at his name in less than a decade, Luther knew that being better was not an objective anymore. His own personal kill list was longer than some battle through history, marking in the thousands, massacres and slaughterhouses that disappeared into the shadows of the world.
Delilah, as an evil bitch, as she was, was incredibly resourceful at the hour of making something vanish in the paperwork of a nation.
Luther knew of the "Heretics", people that have flipped the bird to Cain; or even Nikolai, the Gardener, who was somehow retired from the world and keep the Garden, only wanting to be left alone. Binder was the one that hunts those that were too dangerous to be left to their own devices; Luther accompanied him on a couple of occasions, seeing how he could have ended. It was a sobering experience, to see, fight and bind, those that drown themselves in the Method; Luther bowed to never be like that, however, he carried the Mark of Cain, as Cain himself has judged him worthy.
Meeting that monster was something that marked Luther for years. Cain was something that defied all explanation, one has to meet him to understand the kind of horrors that lurked behind the black and red eyes of the First Murderer. Still, Luther grew stronger from that meeting, and for the first time in a decade, the young man admitted that he didn't want to end like that.
Luther didn't want to be like the rest of the Cult, fuck, not even in a joke; however, he was incredibly confused about what the heck could be done with his life.
Thanks to the Method, Luther knew that; unless he was killed, and he had little delusions of being invincible; his life span was going to be a long one, heck, Delilah has been around for three thousand years and she had a body that supermodels would sell their mothers souls for.
In a peculiar night in Asia; Luther met the Shooter, a Heretic, that show Luther that Cain was not absolute. The Shooter was a black man, who was sold into slavery in the USA, during the 17th century. After learning the Method and making the Pilgrimage, the Shooter called bullshit on Cain and say that he does not need more chains. Since then, he has been hunting and killing slave rings all over Africa, Asia, and Eastern Europe.
Trying to see how it feels, Luther helped a squadron of the Soviet´s Army Vozdushono-Desantnye Vojska; Soviet Paratroopers, to clean out a Mujaheddin camp, before they attack a refugee camp, outside of the borders of the Soviet territory. Blood and flesh fly that night when Luther assaulted the camp all by himself and slaughtered; there was no other term to the carnage; an entire platoon of insurgents, breaking and ripping them apart like they were made of cardboard.
By the time, the Paratroopers come, he has already ended. The soldiers found him, hunched like a beast, over a dozen of corpses; blood covering his entire frame.
As a tribute to his lost friends; Peter insisted in his Superhero suit, much to Luther chagrin; Luther was dressed in black, thick, clothes, combat boots, studded leather gloves, and a white mask. The mask made him look as if he was some kind of psychotic mummy, leaving his eyes and mouth open.
As he expected, the leader of the Platoon, a very beautiful Russian girl, did not lose a second before they raised their weapons and order him to surrender.
Luther knew that he could massacre all of them, that he could dance between their bullets and torn them apart. That would be the Murder Cult way of acting, but Luther, after meeting the Shooter, understood that there was something that he has been missing all this bloody time.
Luther had a choice, why has he did not see something that fucking simple?, why has he been following the Cult like a lost puppy all this time?.
Then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Delilah, Binder, Librarian; they have been manipulating him all this time, showing him that he was nothing but a murderer, a weapon that needs blood and carnage to be alive.
Cain was the final nail in his coffin, they have not been training him, they have been programming him. However, meeting the Shooter created a chink in the programming and seeing the strong and cold, but scared eyes of this soldiers were the final crash of the patron in his mind,
In the wise words of the Shooter; "That´s Bullshit, man". Luther knew of the mind tricks that they have put on him, fuck, he could use them as well; and now, he was; for the first time since that cold night on where Luther murdered his own father; Free.
Stunned by the epiphany, Luther widened his eyes, turning them back to his usual caramel blue eyes and laughed like he has just listened to the funniest joke ever. There is little need to mention how that left the troopers a bit peeved at the situation.
From the point of view of the Soviets, they were about to exterminate a camp of insurgents, in order to save a refugee camp. But when they reached the place, they found the mangled corpses of about fifty to sixty, persons? there were some difficulties to see how many pieces belong to whom. Blood covered the ruined building, along with the torn corpses and weapons of the men that lived here. The troopers were hardened veterans, but even they had to admit that this was one of the weirdest and most brutal shit that they have ever seen.
They had little difficulty finding the responsible of this massacre, and the fact that it was only a tall man with a scary mask was something that they did not expect. No man, no matter how strong, can rip a man in two with his bare hands or shove a mutilated arm on the stump of the neck of a ripped head. The monster in human clothes over the dozen corpses, had no arms with himself, just his bare hands, and that was something impossible.
Luther, on his part, was laughing his ass off at the irony; so many years looking for an exit and he had it in front of his nose the entire fucking time. What prevented him to follow the path of the Shooter or the Gardener? absolutely nothing.
Sure, if he was an asshole and did stupid things, Binder will go after his ass; but if he just wanted to be free and follow his way? Luther only had to do it.
The Soviet Paratroopers ordered him to surrender, and Luther just did it. It was so funny, that it was tragic; raising his hands as a signal of surrender, Luther kept laughing and smiling for himself, with tears of laugh under his eyes. There is little need to say that, that freaked out the Soviets a little.
However, they were fucking professionals and considering that Luther was a massive unknown in the middle of a war-zone, they will keep the whatever the hell this thing that looks like a man was, contained and will ask for clarification with the HQ about who this man was.
Judging from the hair and the complexion, he was Caucasian, but apart from that, it was all a mystery. Pragmatic as ever, they chained Luther and toss him into the back of an armored van, where Luther keep smiling and thinking about what the hell he should do with his life from that point on.
Chains and escaping from the army? been there done that; that was not the problem. The problem was the question that has been dancing in the head of Luther for a while; now, What?.
Who was him? what did he want?, why did he even care about anything?. Well, Luther was too young to have an existential crisis, but right now, he was just in the middle of one; a hell of a crisis, as his entire worldview has crumbled apart in a second.
Once they reached the camp, and Luther could ear about how the Trooper had fucked it up by saving a child from a refugee camp; something that was against their orders; they send someone to interrogate him about who the fuck he was. And quite frankly, Luther had not the slightest idea about how to answer that particular question. He had his name and little more.
He was Luther Strode; that was his birth name, and he was happy with it, It was his mothers' bachelor name, and Luther will keep it, a memento of the woman that raised him with all she had. On a side note, from time to time, Luther kept tabs on her; she remarried again and had a new family that loved her.
Leaving apart his name, that was it; that and the Method. Impressive, but something that you could put on your resume; well, not unless you wanted to traumatize the interviewer for the rest of his life. Thanks to the Method, Luther was a relatively competent physician, learning about chemistry, anatomy, etc was part of the Method after all; and thanks to his constant travels around, Luther spoke fluently English, Russian and Chinese with a smudge of broken Spanish and Italian. Of course, his first skills relay on his Talent; as the Librarian euphemistically called those that could accept the Method and become part of the Murder Cult.
Unleashed, Luther was a bloody nightmare in movement, capable of impossible and jaw-dropping physical feats that defied logic and what people believed about how the world works. But Luther would have gifted all in that; wrapped in a colored ribbon; to whoever could tell him what the fuck was he going to do with his life, now that he has fallen in the bloody realization that he was as free as he wanted.
Freedom was a novel concept to Luther, after a decade serving loyally and without doubt to the Murder Cult. The Shooter was right; the Murder Cult was Bullshit and the sooner he got out of there, the best it will be for all of them. There was a tiny line between sane and insane, and inside the Cult, Luther has been pirouetting on that line for way too long. Having his mind manipulated by Dalilah and Cain didn't help either; however, now that he was Free, Luther was seriously considering doing all the things that he wanted to do as a bloody teenager, but never could.
Luther never had a girlfriend, the closest thing he had was Petra, his friend; who has never show any signal of being remotely interested in him; so his interactions with the fairer sex has been limited at victims and witness, mixing between the two alternatively and one ending like the other and vice-versa. It was a common thing in the Murder Cult. People were little more than wastes of protein, only those that show a smudge of potential, are show the way to the Method and see if they had the Talent, inducted into the Murder Cult.
The point, in fact, was that Luther has never got drunk, never dated a girl, never did all the stupid things that most of the teenage population of the planet did. Luther would have broken his mother heart and they had enough problems as they are, to add more to the plate of the poor woman. Not to mention that Luther was thin as a straw back there, and only the Method gave him a muscle that professional athletes would sell their souls for half of it.
Drugs, alcohol, hell, even prostitutes, now that he was at it; it was something that only people with money could afford, Luther was a poor bastard and in order to do not put more pressure on his already overtaxed mother, he forbid himself of anything that could give her more troubles.
In a nutshell, Luther was a twenty-eight years old virgin with enough Talent to leave a city the size of San Francisco as a Necropolis; before they started to toss missiles at him. Powerful and talented as he was, Luther was very, very conscious about his own mortality. Years of working with the Binder, show him that even those that have learned the Method were not exempt from death; just a lot harder to kill.
An RPG to the face would vaporize his brain, putting him down for good; heck, a bullet of enough caliber would do the trick. Luther pulled that one in the Twins, a couple of demented maniacs that carved a path of bloodshed in a city, just because the male of the two keep killing all the chefs; and all the clients; of all the restaurants that promised the best steaks and city and did not meet his standard.
Binder put a bullet in the head of the male, as Luther distracted them and together, Binder and Luther; put the female six feet under. They were impossible to control or Bound, they would fight every single second of it, preferring death over Binding any day.
In hindsight; always 20/20 that one; Luther thought that they could have done things differently, perhaps showing them a different way, some that did not include the bodies of hundreds of persons in their path. All for a bloody steak. Luther saw a lot of shit as a member of the Cult, but that one was high in his personal What-the-fuck moments' list.
Entertained with his mental list, Luther waited patiently. Not really caring about the blood and grime that covered him or the chains that held him bound to the walls and floor of the cell. Those are limitations that he could shake easily, they are inconsequential to him. The Method shows him that much, the flesh was stronger than steel, if the mind and the spirit were in harmony with it. It was real, not a fortune cookie bullshit, it was real and Luther knew that he could break the chains and slaughter everyone in miles; only a lucky shot with a heavy cal or a missile would stop him.
They interrogated him, a beautiful Russian woman; with steel eyes that Luther liked; who tried to get his name and who he was. Sadly, Luther could only give him his name, the rest was still being debated in his head. His name was inconsequential, another nobody, a poor child that disappeared one cold night in Seattle and appears and death in the government registers. Luther knew well, he was the one that put his as death in the system, he was part of the Murder Cult, Luther, nothing else, Strode was the name of his mother, and he would prefer to do not stain it with the blood of his murders.
It was almost funny, now Luther only had his name and the Method; he was almost like a newborn. Of course, the lack of anything resembling useful information did not sit well with the Soviets and they moved onto more physical attempts of extracting information from him; it did not work well, in fact, one broke his fingers when he punched Luther.
Thanks to the Method, Luther could make his muscles being able to capture bullets, trying to punch those muscles without protections will be like punching a steel wall. The fun ended when they took their blades out, that could kill Luther, if he allowed it of course, so he apologized to the blonde woman; a real professional that one; and breaking the chains like they were made of tissue paper, knocked out everyone in the room. Not killing anyone, Luther was curiously proud of that. Dressing with some military clothes; that barely fit him; Luther walked out of the cells and into the desert of Afganistan.
Mentally apologizing to the Shooter, Luther took a page from the book of the man and become the nightmare of the slave trade in Afganistan and the nearby countries, hoping to find the man that shown him another path. In the end, Luther finally found the Shooter and after almost killing each other by a misunderstanding, the Shooter bought him a drink and told him that he was fucked in the head. The smile on the black man face was different from his worlds, but Luther understood, although, it was clear that the Shooter path was different from Luther´s.
"You choose the book, you walk the path". The Shooter said to Luther. "Now you have told the path, to go fuck himself and ride into a highway to the devil knows where; ain't that a hell of a thing boy?, I´m almost proud of you".
They parted in friendly ways, practically the first facsimile of a friend that Luther had since his real friends in Seattle; it was a good sensation. However, Luther was still trying to make heads or tails about what to do with his life. On a side note, Luther used the money that he took from the dead slavers to buy all the things that he would have loved to have as a child but his poverty prevented it.
Clothes were never something that he gave too much thought about; his black clothes and his mask; the last piece of his past that he would never let go; was pretty much everything he needed. Cars? well, he did learn to drive but it was little more than a transportation method. Expensive things like clocks, rings and the such? they tend to get in the way. Luther never understood the fascination of the Librarian with his pocket clock and bow-tie; perhaps it would have something to do with his Englishman thing that he had?; anyhow, it didn't work for him.
Books? well, Luther liked to read, but that was a hobby more than a real need, food was another vice, he becomes a competent chef. Weapons? never trusted too much on them, armor? useless, drugs? never again.
The Method and LSD were something that Luther did not want to experiment with never again. Coca gave him headaches. Heroin was not of his like. Opium was funny but he hated the vulnerability after consuming it. Weed was not all that bad, but Luther preferred to have his brain entirely intact, thank you. Acids were in the category of never again. Alcohol and cigarettes were okay; Luther absolute control of his body allowed him to drink like a sponge and smoke like a chimney that he could always puke the tar or the alcohol out of him before they damaged him.
A year of running around like a headless chicken, in a spiral of hedonism, passed in a blink; as Luther tasted everything that he could not taste before; ah, yes, woman included, turns out, money was incredibly sexy; and his powerful body was of the like of a lot of women. Luther found that kiss and tell; or better said fuck and run; was very disappointing.
Sure the sex was good, but Luther could not but think about how it could feel with a woman that actually liked him, and not just his wallet.
Being brutally honest, he had the sensation that it must be a unique kind of woman that would see past the monster and found the man behind the Method. Something that would impossible to found in this world.
Anyhow, a year of relative debauchery and blood jobs to keep himself sharp, Luther knew that shit was coming his way, and he was totally right. Binder appeared in his door, ready to Bound his sorry ass back to the Node and get him chained along with Cain and the few that were simply impossible to control.
Of course, Luther told him to go fuck himself and as it cannot be another way with those of the Murder Cult, they leveled seven blocks of the city. The things got especially bad when Binder open the cage of none other than Jack the Ripper.
Yeah, Jack the Ripper was part of the Murder Cult, a fucking mummy with two sharp knives, long coat, and a hat. Luther hated his guts as soon as they clashed, the bastard took his sweet time turning a mall into a flesh and blood scene of Dante´s Inferno, with flesh parts and artistically posing bodies all over the place. It was something out of a nightmare.
In the end, Luther was seriously wounded, tired as hell and in a serious need of painkillers; but he managed to defeat both of them, turning them into mincemeat and jumping into the river to lose the police who chased after him. Luther didn't want to kill more cops that he needed, after all, not all of them were corrupt fuckers, and killing unnecessarily was something that he has taken to the heart now.
Of course, he was a chased man now; years of anonymity directly to the trash bin, however, there was something wrong in all these, he should be way more public after the disaster of the Binder and the Ripper.
Much to his amazement, Luther was left alone by the Cult. Killing Binder and Jack like that must have sent a powerful message. He was a Heretic now. Surely, the next Binder will come after his ass at some point in the future; or the Librarian, perhaps.
Luther had his doubts about the last one, the fucker never cared about those that diverge from the path, only for spreading and guiding people into the Method. Luther was the first, real, success in almost three decades, the Librarian would hate to destroy someone with such Talent.
Still, Luther was a fugitive now and just drove out of the country and into a bit illegal job in a fishing boat to the Chinese Sea. It has been years since Luther put a foot in Asia. He spoke Chinese pretty well, as he worked with Binder to chain a young assassin of the Triads in Wang Tei, somewhere in the border with Russia.
Thanks to being able to spoke Russian, Luther had no problems to work in the ship; of course, he was a newbie and had to crack some skulls to let the dogs now that there was a bigger, worse, dog on the kennel, but that was something expected in this kind of situation.
From a fishing boat, Luther disappeared in the shadows of a Chinese port, not really wanting to lose more time in the ship; it was a way to get out of the States, nothing more. With nothing at his name but his clothes and his mask; it was the last memento of his past life and he will not abandon it voluntarily; Luther walked into the shadows of the coast of China.
A party so wild that he had to run; again; from the Chinese police, Luther found himself in Thailand, where he made a living by crushing poor fools in illegal fighting rings. Unfortunately for them, those of the Method are monsters, and only another member of the Murder Cult has a chance to fight him on equal footing.
Luther need the money and bitch-slapping fighters in a ring was actually better than murder anyone in his path, just for food; he would be like that fucker of the Twins and that something that Luther did not like at all.
To be honest, his looks made him relatively popular in the underground Arenas; they believed he was some kind of pretty boy and underestimate him. In a year of fights; stumbling around half Thailand; Luther had to kill about two dozens of mooks. Fuckers that did not get the message, and realized that they have been bested by a foreigner.
Curiously, half of them were so high in combat drugs that they would have surely died after the combat; like a rabid dog; Luther put them out of their misery. It was more humane that way at last. Luther killed them quickly and without pain.
Ah, in that number were not included the hundreds of absolute cretins that believed that can pull a fast one on him and walk away. Combat organizers that said that they would not pay a Blondie bitch like him and better he scam or they would kill him, local mafia shits that believed that they could scare Luther or mug him; things like that.
The first twenty corpses or so, send a message clear enough, but Luther will admit that hanging one of them with their own innards by the window of his office was a bit too much.
The bastard deserved it, although, he tried to rig the combat. Drugging and stabbing Luther before the combat and made the other fighter kill Luther in the ring.
Anyhow, his fame as the best fighter in Thailand did not sit well with the locals, who wanted "the blonde" down for good; the fights soon became a gallery of traps and tricks to put him down; making Luther move out of the illegal rings and onto the even more shitty undergrounds arenas were everything goes.
Well, at least, in the latter there was no problem about him being a whitey; half of the fighters were as foreigners as him. The pay was not something to be precisely proud, but the mixture of styles and fighting talents was a novel experience to Luther, he even befriended some of the guys at the arenas. People with dark and twisted lives; even with the Method, Luther will admit that the Murder Cult was a fucking charity compared with the shit that humanity pulls over each other.
Luther saw the fighters and pondered about the idea of opening his own dojo or something. Thanks to the Method, Luther was a monster in hand to hand combat, he knew styles and moves of the biggest killers in history.
That were not Martial Arts, were Murder Arts; no self-control or perfection thing, just a way to turn your enemies into mince-meat, quick, fast and cruel. In a lawless zone like this underground rings, he surely could make a killing; pun totally intended; by teaching aspiring fighters to be real fighters.
Curiously enough, Luther was relatively happy in this lawless and underground pits of fighters; leaving the Method apart, he was almost at home. It didn't take long to Luther to get at the top of the ladder of the fighters, facing against things that could be barely called human; dispatching them easily but pretending it was harder than it looks, and into the fights that were not official but moved a lot of money around.
It was during one of those fights, that everything went to hell in a basket, and Luther ended in one of the most dangerous hellholes of this planets.
Roanapur.
Truth to be told, Luther did not expect to see the Russian girl that he meet in Afganistan again. By some convoluted reason; about mobs, trading rights, and weapons dealings; she was present in the hellhole where Luther fought every two days.
The owner of the place was trying to cut a deal with the Russian Mafia and invited the woman to his little underground arena, in order to discuss business.
Without his mask and with his hair shorter than it was during that encounter in Afganistan, the woman did not identify Luther at first sight.
When Luther entered the ring, facing a mountain of a Thailand fighter that seems made of violence and muscles, Luther understood that this was a setup, again. Not the first time that Luther found people like these, and as soon as he saw the other fighter, Luther understood that the owner was trying to have him killed in front of his guests. A not so subtle message about do not fuck with the Thai or you end like your fellow Blanquito bitch.
Sadly for the owner, Luther was way over the head of the poor bastard and after a little pantomime of acting as it was difficult for him, Luther punched the man in the chest and turn his heart into a pile of jelly. No matter how high the poor bastard was, his heart being obliterated put him down for the count, trouncing the plans of the owner; whose name, by the way, Luther didn't even remember.
Of course, that didn't sit well with the locals; again, this was starting to get ridiculous; and they soon get their hands on their guns.
Luther ripped some of them into pieces as he made his way out of the bloody arena. It was not precisely a sports coliseum but it was big enough to be a nuisance to move around if, you don't know the layer of the building.
Luther case was of the latter, more than the former, and he just runs around; still dressed in only a sports pant and bandages; trying to find the hall that he remembered was the exit of this place. Unfortunately, Luther ended up in a hall with half of dozen of Thai gunmen that were looking for an excuse for using their guns. They died in three seconds, asking what the hell was wrong before their pieces fall to the floor. Luther was not in the mood of being charitable and just rip them apart as the cattle they were.
In other circumstances, Luther may have considered the possibility of letting them live; however, they are little more than walking guns. They lives have been so filled with violence and shit, that they are little more than that; pieces of shit that only understood violence.
It was tragic as hell, but Luther was not in the mood to be merciful tonight. Well, at last not with this mooks; if he found people of the public or the people of the Russian woman that he met in Afganistan, he would not kill them. Unless they do something stupid, like shooting him, that´s where Kiddy gloves are off.
Tearing the place apart; Luther ended up in one of the side rings of the arena. The place should have been deserted, but with the chaos that was going on all over the place, Luther did not feel surprised that two groups had turned the rings and its surroundings into a shooting gallery. Slipping by the door, Luther observed the situation; trying to discern if he could slip unnoticed and let them resolve their difference through passionate gun debate.
Hope was free, unfortunately for Luther; it was not on the cards. As soon as he entered the room, he had to dodge a burst of automatic fire. It was not that hard of a feat for a member of the Cult, but one must know that he has been shot. Anyhow, Luther jumped all over the place, dodging the fire of several weapons; cheap semi-automatic, if he has to judge by the sound; and joining a group of people that have taken cover on one of the sides of the ring.
The former Soviet Captain; the same one of Afghanistan and way more scarred than Luther remember; raised an eyebrow at seeing him and Luther corresponded in such way. Now, Luther was not the smartest there is, cunning maybe, but smarts were never his best; so it was not hard for him to open his mouth and insert foot on it.
Social graces were never a major point of the Method or the Cult, so Luther´s social manners were a bit rusty, to say the least.
From the point of view of Balalaika; the leader of Hotel Moscow of Roanapur; it was a bit of an absurd meeting. She remembered the man, it was hard not to, what he did in the insurgent camp was something that left all the members of her unit speechless. To actually, find that refugee of an American terror movie in an underground ring of Thailand was kind of a surprise.
"Oh, good night Miss Pavlovna", smiled Luther in perfect Russian, as if the bullets that kept them pinned in there was not even a bother. "It has been a while, please excuse me while I dealt with some pests". Apologized Luther, before ripping the metal stairs of the corner of the ring from the ground and before Balalaika and their men could even blink, he was already on the move.
Luther charged against the shooting men, using the stairs as a shield; not that he needed, but in front of a witness, it was better to keep the feats of the Method under wraps. Even if they shot low, Luther was more able to dodge the bullets and in a second, he already over them, crushing a couple of them against the walls with a sickening crunch. A reverse punch to the left and a quick low kick to the right put another to down. One with his brain and skull splintered and the other with his knee exiting from the wrong side of his leg.
The four remaining try to point their weapons at him; from Luther point of view they were moving in low motion, but they barely reached midpoint when Luther dispatched them like yesterday garbage.
A hand-knife strike cut Adam´s apple and a good chunk of the throat of one; in the same movement, Luther punched the side of the neck of another and snapped his vertebrae in a million of pieces. Jumping backwards, Luther put an elbow in the chest of the third one, shattering his ribs and internal organs; making him puke his crushed innards in a shower of chunks and blood; and the upper part of the head of the last one; from upper jaw to the top; splattered on the wall behind him.
Luther blinked and saw how his fist has volatilized the upper part of the head of a grown-up man. He really should pull some brakes, his idea was to do not appear as superhuman, and this kind of physical feats was a bit out of the line. On the positive note, Luther was not totally covered in blood and grime, so that was a plus.
One of the things that he never liked of the Cult, was the little importance that all of them give to the fact that they always ended covered head to toe in the blood and remnants of their victims. Luther was far from being squeamish, but walking around in blood, flesh and corpse pieces was not a pleasant experience, not to mention tremendously unhygienic.
Waving his hand to clean the bandages from the blood and flesh chunks, Luther took a seat on the broken metal stairs and eyed the hall that the corpses around him were guarding. They were preventing anyone to move out of the ring, so they could possibly blocking an exit. That would be nice, Luther only wanted to reach his little apartment downtown, have a shower, pick up his few essentials, and move on.
He may even pick up some Satay; a local dish of grilled meat that has become popular in the streets lately; as he walked onto the nearest train station and throw a dice about what would be his next destination.
That has been his primary method of decision lately, the poor dice was a ragged six-faced black dice that Luther took from the corpse of a cowboy-obsessed mook in Cambodia. So far, the little thing has not failed him, and to be honest, it was not as if he could speak out of any situation. Luther did not speak Thai.
"Impressive as always Mister Luther". The voice of Balalaika came from his side. Luther knew that the woman was there, Luther could see the muscles of her body move, the subtle tension on the bodies of everyone; it was one of the worst things that came with the Method. You stop seeing people and start to see meat.
"You flatter me, Lady Pavl..".
"Balalaika, please", smiled the blonde woman, cutting Luther. Now, Luther shrugged and compiled. Seeing where she was, it was not hard to suppose that the woman has cut any ties with Mommy Russia, and in the shadows of the world; names could be a dangerous thing.
"As you wish, Lady Balalaika", nodded Luther, scratching his chin. It was a good thing that he was not a bearded man, the worst was a five o´clock shadow blonde beard. "Sorry for the mess", sheepishly looked at the corpses on the ground.
"Oh, no, I always love to see a professional on the work", smiled Balalaika.
Her loyal soldiers have already moved into the hall outside the side ring, leaving her with an escort of three soldiers armed with handguns and an AK-47. None was deluded, they know perfectly well that the monster in human skin in front of them could rip them to shreds in a moment. He has proved so much in Afganistan, and right now, by killing six armed men in four seconds.
"Say that to my former manager", chuckled Luther. "I am afraid that my little victory on the ring has not been of his liking, judging from the fact that they have been shooting at both of us".
"So you are unemployed". There was a dangerous glint in the eyes of Balalaika and a sweet tone in her voice that made some primal instinct inside of Luther, shuffle uncomfortably.
Luther can be a killing machine, the Murder Cult may sure of it. But even a decade walking the Path, Luther was as socially awkward as he was as a teenager. Even in his year of debauchery, his social skills utterly suck. The Murder Cult wanted a monster, not a bloody Casanova, Luther was not accustomed to having a civil conversation with a beautiful woman.
The Temptress, Delilah, did not count. She always wanted something, she was always manipulating everyone around her; enacting the will of Cain; so, when she approached with a smile and just wanting to talk, Luther knew that he was screwed.
Under such precedents, each time a beautiful woman talked to him, Luther always suspected that she was plotting something that would, without doubt, ending with him in the middle of a cluster fuck.
Not to mention, that Luther passed the majority of his puberty and early adult years, training with the Librarian. Sure, the bald Englishman was an excellent teacher in all kind of topics, but for him, man and women are pretty much the same; meat sacks.
As Luther suspected, Balalaika wanted to hire him for Hotel Moscow, her little, personal, mafia group in Roanapur. Now, Luther was flattered, unfortunately, Luther knew that he was not a very good player team.
Well, not in a military kind of team; the biggest group of members of the Cult was when he was with Binder, and that was a team of two. Luther lacked anything resembling military experience. Discipline was a must in the Cult, but Luther has never been in any kind of army; trying to act like a soldier was something that he could not do right now. Maybe if he joined an army for the next decade or so, would have considered himself apt enough.
Balalaika still insisted on having him under her paycheck, after all, it never hurt to have her own boogie-man. Luther laughed at that description, in truth, it was not that far off the mark, give him a machete and he could pass as the blonde cousin of Jason Voorhes
Accepting the deal, Luther walked outside the place with Balalaika, who was interested in how the hell did Luther could do what he does. Balalaika and her men; all Soviet Paratroopers and Spetsnaz; were professionals and even them were shocked by the kind of stunt that Luther pulled in Afghanistan.
Luther smiled and shrugged, blatantly stealing a page from the Librarian, and answer that he has strange talents. He has been like that since forever and with the years and practice, he has become that good. Still, he drooped some half-truths, calling the Librarian an English SAS, Binder a former Navy Seal, and Delilah as a Mossad agent; sure they will be terribly offended, but Luther could not reveal the existence of the Murder Cult or the Method.
As professionals as Balalaika and her people were; the Murder Cult is full of horrid monsters, Luther knew well, he was one of them after all.
It didn't take long for the group to actually exit the place and get into the cars and vans that the Russian soldiers have; Luther rode the back of the van with the majority of the soldiers, feeling a bit awkward from being still dressed in only bandages and gym shorts.
The road from the underground arena to the hotel was the Hotel Moscow mafia was staying went in silence. They knew that Luther could speak Russian perfectly well, but the soldiers were a bit wary of him. It happened every time Luther let the Method take control and butcher his enemies. There was a lot of impressive and amazing people out there, real professionals of war, but against the monsters of the Murder Cult, they could be toddlers.
Now, Luther was not an arrogant shit like the Librarian; Luther was very conscious of his own mortality. It could be harder to put him seven-foot under than to the average mook, but that was not invulnerability. Far from it, a 50. cal bullet demonstrated it when the head and brain of the male Twin disappeared in a flash. That sent a very clear message to Luther. You Are Not Immortal, so keep your ego in check, before some lucky bastard manages to put you down for good.
If something can be said from Balalaika and her people it is that they are a pragmatic and solid bunch. The Hotel was as luxurious as Luther expected, and they even gave him clothes. Unfortunately, Luther was a tall and broad bastard, and the suit was a bit tight for his body mass.
One of the most obvious marks of the Method was how the body grows to its utmost physical perfection, leaving any member of the Murder Cult as physically perfect and muscular specimens. In Luther´s case, he was shy of seven feet and broader than any of the soldiers around him. It was quite the chore to actually found clothes that fit him, usually with sports clothes and baggy clothes it was sufficient, but they have given him a suit, and Luther felt, that he stretched a bit, the seams will burst.
Balalaika and her trusted lieutenant; Boris; found it incredibly amusing.
Anyhow, Luther spoke with Balalaika about what she expected from him, and the woman just smiled and answered that she wanted her own boogie-man; as she has said before; for the day when her multiple enemies, toss a boogie-man at her.
Knowing what he knew, Luther could see the reason behind the words of the woman, however, Luther also pointed out that maybe that would be a mistake. After all, if she had her own boogie-man, her competition would also look out for monsters of their own, starting a race that would not bring anything good for Roanapur.
Even Luther has already eared about the place, a nest of the worst and the most rotten hellhole on Thailand. However, Luther did not want a battle between members of the Cult in the city. There will be no city left when they were over, especially if someone without the restraints of Binder or the Librarian came to town.
Seeing the reason in Luther's words, Balalaika pondered about what she could do with Luther. It was an asset that she was not going to let go, mostly because she didn't want to be the next target of the man.
She could have shot him with a sniper rifle from a kilometer, but in the improbable case that he survived, Hotel Moscow would be done. Why antagonize a force of nature when it could work for your benefit?
As a contractor, Balalaika asked what were the real talents of Luther, a phrase that made him laugh; much to the curious of Balalaika. If only she knew the connotations of that word. Anyhow, Luther gave her a rundown mixed with the honest truth.
Hand to hand combat; his best trait, honest; a relatively good shooter; he had exceptional eyesight and coordination but guns have never been his favorite; expert parkour; he could do shit that would leave people dumbfounded; spoke three languages and babbled in another two, considered himself a good cook and a competent traumatologist. If anything, the Method taught a lot of medicine, up to a point where the flesh was under the command of the mind.
Balalaika found his resume quite impressive, not that different from what ex-special forces would have brought to the table, the piece of having medical formation did surprise a little and Luther hide the truth by blaming the Librarian; as SAS operative; for his unorthodox resume.
Luther was still haunted by the image of the Librarian; a seven feet tall bald and bearded behemoth of a man; English waistcoat and bow-tie included; with his Hello Kitty apron as he butchered a family of witnesses in their own kitchen.
He made dinner and gave Luther lessons of the Method in such fashion several times.
Luther was still traumatized by those images.
Sharing a watered-down version of those events to Balalaika, the Russian mob boss laughed to the point of tears, even the usually stoic Boris broke into a laughing fit at the grotesque picture of a man that could give a wrestler a run for his money, dressed as an English butter and a Hello Kitty apron, baking a cake in the middle of a war zone.
The members of the Cult, absolutely all of them; Luther included; were absolutely bonkers.
The Method was not designed for sane people, actually, being out of the mind must be some kind of secret condition of something; not that Luther mentally review all the members of the Cult that he knew.
At the end of the job interview; so to speak; Balalaika understood the point of Luther about keeping his "boogie-man" status as a secret, although, Luther had little qualms in giving Balalaika´s jobs priority over whatever could come his way. With all his talents, Balalaika was sure that Luther would make a hit in Roanapur.
There was already a lot of guns for Hire, names like Sawyer the Cleaner, the Yun brothers, Big One Emilio or Greentooth Johnny were the first that come to mind when people talk of independent assassins for hire.
Luther was leagues above all of them, at last, in the skills department, Balalaika has pegged Luther in a second when she saw him in the ring. He was a monster, but lack anything resembling a life out of the bloodshed.
Balalaika knew a lot of individuals like Luther, people who had violence in their veins. People like Shenhua or Revy "Two hands" come to her mind. But outside of combat, outside of the frenzy of battle, they are like house cats. Entertaining themselves with anything that caught their fancy before they get their next job. Although, Balalaika has seen Luther in action in Afghanistan and that same night, and could say that Luther was a category on its own.
Yes, Roanapur fitted the man like a glove, and Balalaika would prefer to be in good graces with the man than him being an unknown that would cause tremendous damage to the already fragile state of the city. Balalaika wanted the city, but she was not reckless enough, to do no recognize that the state of where they are now, was beneficial for everyone. Even if she wanted to gun down more than eighty percent of the city population.
Luther knew that he was pretty much in debt with the woman, for offering him a job and a method of getting out of the city; and the country; without starting a personal war with all the bands that live in the city.
The shooting with the Russians has sent everyone on the city on edge, and Luther didn't blame him; Russian paratroopers were not a joke; the bands of the city also hated him for being a foreigner that defeated them in their own national sport; the sooner he gets out of the city, the better.
That being said, Luther had a little problem with the situation, worst come to happen, he would smuggle himself into a cargo ship and be shipped to anywhere.
It was not the first time that he wrapped himself in a box, enter into a coma state, and be mailed to the other side of the world. It was uncomfortable and dangerous, but the perfect way to get out of the radar.
That´s how he reached Cambodia in the first place.
So, at the end of the debacle, Luther was more or less in route to Roanapur and in relative debt with a Russian Mafia boss that had an army of former Soviet Paratroopers and Spetsnaz at her service; not to mention his destination was the biggest nest of crime at this side of the ocean.
Looking to the calendar in the hotel room, Luther sighed and realized that is was just another bloody Monday. He was having a lot of those lately, days on where he was constantly wondering about his mental state and the sanity of the rest of the world.
A month later, and fully integrated into the cogs of Roanapur, Luther realized that he should have known better.
The rest of the world was bloody nuts and he was in the clinically insane part of the bloody Asylum.
The asylum where money was the God of all religions.
Money was a funny thing in Roanapur.
Technically speaking, they are part of Thailand, but the real coin around was the dollar. Luther was not sure why, but he didn't care much either. Money was money, and Luther was trying to play ball; according to the standards of the bloody city; with this land concrete jungle laws.
On that front, Balalaika´s word was gold, she was the one that ran the rumor that his skills were top-notch and when Balalaika spoke, people listen or run for the hills, sometimes both.
Luther was a bit of an oddity in the city. Not only for his appearance; a blond, white man who could leave wrestlers as ballerinas; but the set of skills that he brought to the city.
Most of the thugs that run around, thought that with a big and noisy gun, the work was half done. They could not be more mistaken, but street cred was made by guns and the skills using them. Luther preferred his own hands but in order to fit better into the locals, he went a bought a gun.
The guns in town; quality ones; were pretty much regulated by the Rip-off Church.
That made Luther pause, fearing that the place was a branch of the Murder Cult, but much to Luther relief, it was just an ironic name for a smuggling and drug dealing organization, that were actually Catholics and everything.
Another proof that the world was nutter than Luther believed, a Catholic church serving drugs and weapons. If he ever found, Cain is going to laugh his ass off.
Once in the church, Revy and Rock went to their business and Luther just picked up the biggest hand cannon he could find; an S&W 500; and a blade; a big mainly machete that could give nightmares to Jason Voorhes. Those weapons would be part of his disguise with the locals, that was pretty much convinced that the weapons made the name. They couldn't be more wrong, the Method and the Murder Cult knew better since Cain beat his own brother head to a pulp a long, long, time ago.
Thanks to the firepower that those weapons carry, Luther could excuse the mangled state of some of his kills. He could easily punch the head of anyone into a fine mist and tear a body to shreds with his hands, with the weapons on him, nobody will question how his kills ended in such a horrid state.
A gun on his sidearm holster and the machete on his hip, Luther joined Rock and Revy before going back to the city. Revy laughed and said if he was compensating something. Luther shrugged and smiled widely; before she could take her gun out, Luther swiped his machete twice, cutting her cigar in two and holding the pieces over the flat of the blade.
Everybody eyes widened for the sudden display of skill, but Rock was the one that facepalmed and pointed out to Luther that he has done it.
Now Revy was going to be pestering him to know who was better and Shenhua would feel her place as blade master of Roanapur under threat. Luther swore loudly and sheathed the machete back, cursing his own idiocy, however, the damage was done and soon his skill with the blade was well know around the city.
Two days later, Luther walked in the Church and politely asked Yolanda if he could strangle Eda with her own innards; a bit taken aback for the request, Yolanda asked what has done the blonde girl to enact such a reaction. She almost choked on her tea with her laughs, when Luther confessed that Eda and Revy, drunk as monkeys in the Yellowflag; had nicknamed him as Luther the Slasher, and the nickname has kind of catch on.
Revy and Eda were on the run for a while; until Yolanda and Rock could convince Luther, to please, do not kill them.
Even Revy respected Luther, not only for the show that he put with the machete but for the words of advice of Balalaika, if "sis" as Revy called Balalaika, says that Luther was not someone to be trifled with, then Revy would believe her. As the days passed, everyone in Roanapur understood that Luther may appear as a gentle giant, but the name Slasher was fucking spot on.
Luther was a blade/gun/muscle/street doc for hire that acted independently; similar to Lagoon Company; and accepted jobs from all sources. In the beginning, it was clear that even the word Balalaika could only grant that much of respect, so Luther decided to give a lesson to everyone in the city and made an example of those that believe that he would not retaliate with extreme prejudice and daemonic brutality to any asshole that tried to scam, intimidate or pull a fast one on him.
What took place in the warehouse of the little Cartel gang that tried to take advantage of Luther for being a blanquito in Roanapur, was still used as a scary story by the criminals of the city. The police need three days to clear the place and even the forensics feel sick about the state of some of the corpses, having difficulties to identify what piece belonged to whom
In all, Luther´s life was pretty good.
Luther lived in a building near the Goodfest Strip club; occupying a condo, after cleaning the place of junkies, bums, etc.
The low floor was the clinic, with a small surgery room, but mostly an office to have the paperwork done and check out for messages etc. Some of the girls of the Goodfest Strip club acted as part-time secretaries. The second floor was his living quarters, who were practically empty as he did not need much to live.
Luther was pondering about opening a dojo; just to test his hand at this teaching thing, it was amusing more than anything concrete and sure as hell that he was not going to taught anyone about the Method. That was the Librarian duty and Luther had zero intention of doing anything to lessen his burden.
After the carnage of the band, his nickname of Slasher became something that no more was said in a half-joke, but in fear. Much to the amusement of Balalaika and Chang; the real powerhouses of the crime in the island; specially Balalaika who laughed for minutes on the phone when she discovered it, as she was about to contract Luther to eliminate a cretin from the USA that was meddling a bit too much on her ship.
It was a curious thing, how Luther has made….kind of friends in Roanapur.
Lagoon Company was a funny bunch, the Rip-off Church was interesting to hang around, Hotel Moscow respected him, the Triads were in the same boat, the Cartels fear him like a plague and the Italians were still trying to made heads or tails about him.
Most of the independents and the locals just saw him as a respected professional rival or someone that never has to be crossed. The girls of the Goodfest Strip liked him a lot; for offering them something akin to a normal job; and Madam Flora and Bao liked him, just by the fact that he paid his debts religiously and whenever he was in the local, peace and quiet ensues.
It was hilarious how the poor Bao has to reconstruct the bar like fifteen times; most of them, because of Revy; but Balalaika paid for all of it; suggesting that the real owners were Hotel Moscow, and Bao has to discuss with Revy again to A) paid her tab and B) do not blow the shit up again.
Luther on the other hand, was more than welcome in the bar because A) Luther paid everything upfront and B) whenever he was around, everybody stood on their best manners, even Revy and Eda, and that was a bloody miracle.
In a relatively short amount of time, Luther became another infamous figure of the city and from Luther's point of view, it was cool beans. They respected or feared him, and that suits him just fine; nobody meddled in his business and Luther was busy all the time.
Roanapur was a violent place, and having a competent medic around, even if Luther has never attended medical school, was a nice plus. There were a lot of street docs, but there was work enough for all of them.
Honoring his word, Luther gave priority to the jobs that came from Hotel Moscow, as he promised Balalaika when she smuggled him into Roanapur. Luther has to admit that word of the woman was gold, and no one who had half a brain wanted to mess with the Russians.
Luther could understand it; not everybody was a monster in human flesh like the Murder Cult was, and facing Soviet Paratroopers, veterans of Afghanistan was a nightmare on its own.
So was the life of Luther on Roanapur.
It was quite the shootout with the Murder Cult, and Luther has to admit, that he liked the place a lot. It was never boring.