He called it the waterfall, though he was eighteen before he ever saw a real one. It was the moment when you either let go and hit until you fell or you were pulled off and fear never entered into it at all That was the mark of the talent, because some could do it when they were backed in a comer, all could do it sometimes, but Cade would do it every time

He wondered if any of the Demons were still there probably not, they were either dead, or they had gotten out and would never come back What did it matter^ They were all punks anyway Still, some of them might remember him.

He laughed thinking about it, but there was no humor m that sound Wouldn't they be surprised to see him agam^ The local boy come back in triumph He had made good by Sanctuary standards He was nch beyond most men's imagination, and powerful, very powerful

He had turned his talent into a very profitable art The art of death. For a fee he killed He was more than an assassin and less than d mur- derer. For he did kill with passion, but never pleasure He killed in the name of mankind to free his victims from lies

For Sanctuary had taught Cade the most valuable of all lessons, it had taught him the truth In all its pain and agony, poverty and despair, was written the LAW, in ironclad runes of blood

And the LAW was one simple word Hell . .

For the world was not a hell, he knew that, it was the hell, the only true hell A man lived a life of pain, no matter who or what he was, the punishment was daily When he died, he either went somewhere better, or his spirit was annihilated for all time. It was simple really: the good, they went to their just desserts; the evil could sink no further, so they were destroyed.

All this ran through his thoughts as he stared down at the place he hated most.