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Prologue

Harry refused to react to the pain as the hunting knife was buried into his thigh. Bastard was quick, he'd give him that, but he'd be damned if he would give the fucker the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt the vengeful teen. Stepping quickly to the side, Harry slashed up with his own blade, disembowelling his opponent and removing the poor fools hand in the same movement. The blood splashed over him, arterial spray adding to his already demonic visage and trickling down his lightning bolt scar.

Glancing around the hallway, he took a moment to appreciate the pure artistry that went into the corpse strewn carpet and blood soaked walls. Fifteen men dead – butchered, really, since there wasn't a single one intact - and Harry's only wound was the knife still in his thigh. He smiled wolfishly and flicked the blood from his ninjato.

He paused to listen against the door at the end of the hallway. Two men, and Abby. Well now, time for some drama to drive the message home, just in case the carnage behind him wasn't clear enough. His emerald green eyes glowed with anticipation as he raised his hand.

He knocked politely.