[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/WIA4zqR.gif[/img][/center]

[color=ec008c][h3][center]Lost Haven, Slums[/center][/h3][/color]

[color=ec008c][h2][center]"Where did he come from...?"[/center][/h2][/color]

Shaking the dizziness from sight, Milo attempted to regain his composure as well as his equilibrium once the boy freed himself from the broken and wrecked confines of the vehicle. Wallowing in the failure of his mission, Milo prayed for his emotions to subside long enough for the impending threat to diminish. The young swordsman would come to recall the numerous times where odds were stacked against him, but he ultimately prevailed. Despite the outcome of this mission, Milo had not yet faltered and if luck held him in high regard still, he had yet to avert his gaze. It was critical to evaluate and establish his surroundings before making another move, given the boy's disadvantage. Firstly, a deep breath. Centering himself, Milo stilled the rapid beating of his heart to a slowed, harmonic pace as his training had stated on a myriad of occasions. Second, the boy allowed his eyes to sweep the area and assessed that the car had crashed through the brittle stone wall of a long since abandoned apartment complex. Such was the life in the ghetto where life and forsaken walls stood back to back. Across the street the humming of humanity still buzzed while a mere few feet away life had been snuffed from the roots. This however was also a gift from the lady of luck. A populated building would draw the impending battle quite troublesome indeed.

Placing one foot in front of the other, Milo hurried from the point of impact and made his way through the corridor. Cars were closing in on his destination and it didn't take long for the Italian mobsters leave their vehicles upon arrival and inspected the wreckage. "Giovanni is dead, but the other kid escaped. Find him, we can't leave any witnesses." As expected, Giovanni was no longer the only target. Judging from the lack of disturbance, one could draw the conclusion that between gangs, the Triad and the mafia, people had learned to stay out of the way. Police would not interfere and civilians had long since hidden from the scene.

Lowering himself to a crouch, Milo had only his hearing to rely on as the mobsters started to split up, their guns held at an aimed position to fire at the very first sight of their enemy. Falling back to the assassination skills which were close to mastered, Milo dexterously made his way into a dust ridden room which had once taken the role of kitchen. Throwing his blade over his shoulder, the boy released the sword from its scabbard and waited for his enemy to set one foot past the threshold of the doorway. Revealing himself, Milo swung his blade in a fluid motion to first sever the mobster's arm from place, effectively removing his weapon, before a quick slice to the throat caused the man to drown in his own blood. There was no time to scream, the cut deep enough to sever words from his lips.

One had greeted death with his sanguine blood coloring the floor. If he was correct, Milo could count seven mobsters having followed them. Surely two boys did not require more pursuers? With soundless steps, Milo hurried down the hall and moved through the ruined apartment before he could make his way into the delipidated corridor outside. Though worn to the point of mold and dust particles, the sun still shown through the cracks and ruined windows spread across the corridor. With a shadow visible in the distance, a warning cast by the sun's warm embrace, Milo could establish his enemy's location just around the corner. Accelerating his silent walk to a full sprint, Milo evened the distance within seconds and made short work of the mobster lurking beyond the wall. 

The dance would continue, Milo relying on silence and stealth to surpass his enemies' superior numbers. Six people would meet their end within the ruined complex, but one remained. Though he searched for the remnant, Milo had no luck in finding such a person. He knew however that he had seen seven people chasing them. Was he incorrect with the analysis of his enemy? No, making his way towards the entry hall revealed that Milo's assessment had indeed been true. One mobster remained but this man stuck out more so than the others. He did not possess a gun but rather a blade, something drawing him quite a curiosity. One did not expect to see a mobster in the possession of such a weapon but this was after all Lost Haven, a place where nothing was what it appeared to be. "Are you done?" The man spoke, an air of unnatural calm surrounding him. There was a sense of intimidation emanating from this man as he puffed the cigar between his lips, a sheathed blade resting against the floor with the flat of his hand finding home atop the pommel.

[color=ec008c]"Who are you...?"[/color] Taking a careful step down the stairs, Milo made sure not to avert his gaze, convinced that a split second of error could be the end.

"My name is Raverio Gatchi." With a bow, this man would continue to thicken the mysterious mist clouding him. One could easily pinpoint this man as one who did not fit into the rest. "I am the Sword of the Family, as it was. I know who you are, I knew the moment I saw you at the mansion. Of course, I knew the others did not stand a chance against you but such is the way of life, no? The strong root out the weak." A soft chuckle would leave his lips as he flicked the cigarr to the ground before stepping on it. "Edge." He continued. "Your appearance does not fool me." 

[color=ec008c]"You talk a lot..."[/color]

"Yes, they tend to say so." Raverio responded with a hearty laugh, his thick Italien accent shining through. Given any other situation, this man would appear rather pleasant. However, as it stood, Milo knew that a battle would soon come to pass. "I confess my folly, Mr. Edge. A battle with you has been eagerly awaited, enough so for me to join this wild chase and allow you to end my comrades, that we may battle without interruption." Slowly lowering his hand to the blade still resting soundly within its sheath, an eager smile crossed the man's lips before he continued to speak. "I treasure honor, my dear Mr. Edge. I treasure it greatly, thus our battle shall rage on without interference." Wrapping his fingers around the hilt, he narrowed his sights at the boy, the battle now ready to commence. "Draw!"