They gripped their electric batons tight, sparks snapping and spitting from the tips as their thumbs pressed down on the triggers. They were ready to teach this arrogant kid a lesson—or at least, they thought they were.
“Remember, kid… you asked for this,” one of the soldiers shouted, unable to contain his smile as he charged at Cane.
“Ahhhh!” he roared, charging at Cane head-on, boots pounding against the training room floor. There wasn't going to be any mercy here, not when he looked at Cane and saw the shadow of La Mort reflected back at him.
He closed in fast, but not for a single second did Cane hesitate, flinch, or regret his decision. He smiled—smiled at the fact the soldier actually believed this would go in his favor.
No worry, he thought as his fingers loosened by his side, ready to enact chaos. You will soon learn the error of your ways. I will beat the respect I deserve out of you, and Father will have no choice but to see me.
The soldier swung first, swinging the baton wildly across Cane’s face. Cane tilted his head lazily, letting the baton cut across the air, his eyes fixed on the soldier, smiling as it narrowly missed. The soldier pulled back the baton and his hand clutched tighter as his face scrunched into a blinding rage, then he swung repeatedly.
Left, right, left, right—Cane dodged every blow with ease, while his smile remained persistent through every feeble attempt.
“Come on, soldier, you can do better than that. Faster,” he goaded.
The soldier threw a desperate, glancing look back at his men, but when he looked at them hoping for encouragement—something, anything—their heads dropped. That’s when he completely lost it, falling for the bait that Cane had laid out for him. He lunged wildly, combining baton swings with sloppy punches, but Cane parried each one. Every time the baton sparked near him, Cane dodged it, then redirected it towards the soldier, burning his arms and body as he wore him down, draining him of his strength with every failed attempt.
The soldier’s body finally broke; he hunched over, chest heaving, one hand resting on his thigh, the other trembling around the baton with barely any strength left to hold it.
How is this possible? I can’t time any of his moves. He’s too quick. Every hit feels heavier than the last. My body—I can’t take much more of this before I’m cooked. I’ve got to finish this, and now.
He forced his head up with the little bit of energy he had left, and his eyes landed on Cane, analyzing him from head to toe, desperately searching for even the slightest chink in his armour. That’s when the gravity of the situation truly hit him.
His eyes widened in horror at the reality of it—Cane wasn’t even breaking a sweat nor breathing heavy. Any other soldier in that room would’ve been out of breath, sweating, talking heavy, something—but Cane… he stood there as if he was just a spectator.
He’s a kid!! the soldier screamed in his head as he squeezed the baton as tightly as he could, the veins in the corner of his head ready to explode. There’s no way. How is this possible? I’m a high-ranking soldier in the strongest army in the galaxy and he’s—he’s a kid! And he’s toying with me.
Still, the soldier rose to his feet, shoulders slumped over, knees shaking as he struggled to hold his body upright, but he refused to accept defeat—not to a kid. His pride would not allow it. His fingers curled into a fist as he snapped the baton to life once more, sparks spitting out from the top of it. The odds were against him, but he got into his fighting stance nonetheless, refusing to accept what everyone else watching already knew—this was over.
“Something wrong?” Cane asked with a smirk, his tone wicked and sarcastic. “Don’t tell me you’re finished already. I was only just beginning to get warmed up.”
He goaded the soldier to come for more, testing his mental fortitude, as he stood there smiling, mouth wide open, hand in front of it, pretending to yawn.
“Shame.”
“I’m! Far! From! Finished!!!” the soldier screamed—but before he could blink, Cane was gone.
Then, without warning, he appeared right in front of him. The soldier froze, his body violently shaking as his eyes refused to look down. When his eyes finally returned their courage, his head slowly tilted down, hoping he was seeing things. But as Cane’s face came into view, the soldier’s mouth widened as his eyes met Cane’s wicked grin, carved from corner to corner.
Cane stepped closer. “Don’t tell me you actually believed you stood a chance,” he chuckled before abruptly stopping. His face carved into the pits of darkness itself, and the joking demeanor and playing were over with.
“Rule number one… protect yourself at all times.”
The soldier felt a cold shudder crawl down his spine. He was scared for his life, but as he turned to move, his body wouldn't follow his orders. He tried over and over, but fear took everything from him—including his body.
Cane saw the fight completely wither from the soldier’s body, replaced by an emotion his father taught him to love: fear.
Bang.
Cane drove a brutal uppercut straight into the soldier’s gut. Spit flew out of his mouth as it forced open and his eyes widened in pain. He stood there for a few seconds as silence enveloped the entire room, until the soldier reached for his stomach, clutching it before dropping to the ground.
Then came the whispers amongst all the soldiers, as what to them seemed like a routine beating turned into anything but.
“He didn’t even try…” one of the men muttered under his breath.
“What are we meant to do with someone like that? You all saw it—he toyed with him, stalked him like prey, and when he was finished playing with his food, he went for the kill,” another said, voice trembling.
Cane stood still, letting them talk amongst themselves before interjecting, disappointment mixed with anger written across his face.
“So this is your army, Father? This is what you hold me back from?” He scoffed. “This is your best?”
A dark, chaotic laugh escaped him, echoing through the hearts of every man present before he abruptly stopped. His gaze turned to the soldiers still lined up.
“You,” he said, pointing at a soldier standing rigidly, trying not to meet his gaze. “You’re next.”
The chosen soldier stepped forward reluctantly; he knew he had no choice. His legs trembled with every step, sweat dripping down his fingers as his hands gripped the baton. When he reached the front, he drew in a deep breath and charged, screaming as he swung.
Cane slipped through the attacks effortlessly again, sidestepping, then struck the soldier mercilessly with a sharp chop to the side of the neck. Blood spat from his mouth as he staggered back. But Cane was a monster—he wasn't about to let his prey off that easy. He lunged forward, striking him repeatedly to the chest and stomach. His screams were like nothing they’d heard before. As Cane eased off, the soldier leant against the wall, the only thing keeping him up, and gasped religiously over and over as he switched between breathing and gasping.
Cane walked over and extended his arm, his hand landing on top of the soldier’s head, rubbing it in a pity-like fashion. The soldier gazed up in horror as Cane stood over him.
“Shhhhh,” he whispered, laying his finger across his lips. “It’s ok—do not worry yourself any longer,” Cane said calmly as his eyes portrayed pity.
The soldiers gathered breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, they saw remorse in the eyes of Cane. Their shoulders relaxed, smiles plastered across their faces and laughter flowed through the room.
But as the saying goes, never jump the gun.
As the cheers echoed throughout the room, an uppercut from out of nowhere met its target, rendering the soldier unconscious and sucking every last bit of hope with it.
This is the standard you hold me to, Father? he thought, a small glimpse of laughter echoing from his mouth, the sound twisted and sadistic. Do you really deem me that weak—or is it that the throne is already warm for another? Hmphhh. No worry, Father, I will leave you no choice but to choose me.
Then he did something that sucked the air out of the room.
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His shoulders tagged as his eyes scanned the men. He closed his eyes and lifted his arm, palm facing the ceiling, and waved them forward.
“Go on,” Cane said, his calm demeanour drifting through the training room. “Maybe just maybe you will have more of a chance if I can't see.”
The soldiers exchanged bewildered, deflated looks. Even the bravest among them felt their knees weaken. But one, desperate to salvage the last fragments of dignity, charged forward with a scream and swung his baton toward Cane’s head.
He charged waiting for the moment the trick but as he got close enough he realised there was no games to be played. He stood in front of Cane hesitant.
“Go on, you have my word,” he said. “If I open my eyes during this exchange you’re all welcome to leave.”
The soldiers looked on pressuring the man to attack. He raised his baton slowly then snapped it forward. Cane didn't raise a single hand towards him nor did he open his eyes. He simply trusted his body to pick up on the movements of the soldier and slipped to the side at just the right time.
The soldier tried again and Cane’s head slipped off to the left, he tried again and he slipped off to the right. It was as if Cane was fighting with his eyes open. But out of the picture a soldier was sneaking up behind Cane, finger on his lips as he moved in.
He lunged forward stabbing the baton towards his body and the soldier in front to his head, but even with surprise attacks it was no use, his head and body twisted in perfect unison dodging both blows.
“How, he must be cheating!” shouted one of the soldiers from the back.
Cane began to chuckle, eyes still closed, his head tilted slightly, arms folded like some spoiled prince indulging peasants.
“I don’t need see you. My body knows your moves before you do. You’re predictable… ordinary—weak.”
Another man charged, hoping that three would do the trick. Cane dipped his shoulder lazily, letting the baton miss him by a hair, then kicked out the back of the soldier’s knee with surgical precision. The man collapsed down to the ground in agony, clutching his knee, pain consuming his every thought as he rolled back and forth on the ground.
The morale of the room crumbled. The soldiers’ expressions broke into disbelief and suffocating dread. One by one, their weapons lowered slightly—not by choice, but by instinct, as if their muscles no longer wanted to fight something so far beyond them.
“You call this resistance?” Cane asked, still blind to the world, grin stretching wider. “Father must be embarrassed to call you his army.”
His eyes opened slowly and the world came back into view, the smirk still etched across his face.
“Pathetic, even with a handicap you pose no challenge,” he scoffed, looking at the men with utter disgust.
And with that the room felt smaller, the walls closing in on an inevitable fate they all hoped to escape.
“Enough,” a brave soldier from the back echoed, his eyes full of bravery. “This madness has to stop.”
His baton lit up and he charged at Cane, stabbing the baton towards his chest as he reached him. Cane immediately jumped backwards before jumping back in with a straight right hand, sending the guard crashing to the floor. Cane turned, disgusted at the soldier’s feeble attempt.
“Weak,” he shouted. “Simply too weak.”
But the soldier simply didn't know when to quit. He rose gingerly, but not defeated, clutching his side. Cane immediately turned around as he heard the footsteps heading his way.
“Ahh, I see. This one has fight in him,” Cane said, almost amused. “You should wear Father’s armor proudly. A true warrior who looked his superior in the eyes and never quit—call me impressed.”
“Now let’s play,” he said calmly as his expression darkened.
He charged, his hands moving faster and faster, each blow landing like thunder. He struck pressure points with surgical precision until the man’s body stiffened—heavy as stone. Blood dripped from his mouth, but he refused to fall.
He staggered, ready for more, but Cane disappeared. As he looked around, he was nowhere; it was as if he’d vanished from the room entirely.
“Be proud of yourself. I will tell Father of your feats here today,” Cane said proudly as he reappeared behind the soldier.
The soldier turned around and his face was the picture of defeat.
“The stories are true… his power—his speed—I can’t touch him. He really is his father’s son,” the soldier said, accepting his fate.
Cane walked over to him slowly and lifted his gaze as if addressing someone unseen.
“Are you proud, Father? Is this enough for you? Is this what you needed to see? No? Fine… I can take it further.”
With breakneck speed, Cane tore through the soldier with devastating strikes. Blood poured freely from the man’s mouth as he dropped to his knees. Cane dropped beside him, eyes glinting with cruel joy as he looked to the sky as if his father was overseeing the battle.
He glanced to his side at the soldier who knelt with nothing left, with nothing more than a smile. The smile pushed him sideways as Cane nudged him, and the soldier hit the ground, unconscious.
The remaining men froze, eyes darting, desperate for answers that didn’t exist. Then one of them broke—he turned and ran for the door, hoping to escape the training room that had become Cane’s torture chamber.
But nothing got past Cane. In a blink, he was behind him, standing silently as the man fumbled with the keypad.
“Going somewhere?” Cane asked calmly, his voice sliding like ice down their spines.
The guard’s lips trembled, words stuck in his throat. His eyes widened as though he’d just seen the angel of death. Cane’s arm shot up, his hand closing around the soldier’s throat. Fingers tightened. He lifted him effortlessly.
“The only thing that awaits you on the other side of that door is death,” Cane said, voice low and cruel, before throwing the man across the room, sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening thud.
The others swallowed hard, staring at the broken bodies of their comrades spread around the room, but fear meant nothing to Cane. And even though their eyes spoke to Cane that they surrendered, he simply denied their request—not with words but with his actions.
With his back still to them, he spoke.
“There is no escape for you men. I stand before you a mere child, and you would run rather than face your enemy? Cowards! If death is upon you, meet it with grace—where is your honor? Do not bring shame upon yourselves and stain the legacy you built. Weakness is an infestation that neither I nor Father will tolerate. And it is punishable by death.”
Their faces shifted. Cane’s words sent a shiver through their bones. They all accepted there was no way out. Fight or die by Cane’s hand, or flee and die by La Mort’s. Either way, death awaited them.
The remaining soldiers lifted their batons, fingers tight around the triggers. Sparks flew. Fear consumed them—but in the heat of battle, they channelled it as a weapon.
They charged, unified as one, hoping that it would be enough to contain him, but Cane moved like something beyond mortal comprehension, dodging, weaving, twisting through their blows as they attacked him. But it made no difference. It was like he had eight eyes, dodging blows that no man could possibly see, blocking strikes that looked destined to land, and all while doing it with graceful poise.
“There’s nothing we can do! We can’t touch him!” one soldier cried, panic choking his voice as he threw everything he could at Cane as fast and as hard as he could.
Cane’s lips curved into a cold smirk.
“Here’s what I’ll do for you—no more defense. You’ve had your turn and shown me none of you are up to the task, so it’s my turn now.”
He didn't even give them a chance to challenge his words before he vanished. His words were final. Then, as the soldiers blinked, he reappeared, standing before one of the men. The soldier looked like he’d seen a ghost, his face instantly drained of its colour. He was no longer using his fear as a weapon; the adrenaline shot was over—and the straight right to the stomach followed.
The soldiers heard the scream, but as they looked over, he was gone again.
Then he reloaded again in front of another—an uppercut followed, sending the soldier flying through the air. Cane shot up above him, meeting him mid-air, and drove an elbow into his gut, sending him crashing to the ground.
Then he locked onto his next target, descending in blinding fashion, shining bright green as his eyes and the mark on his arm lit up. He drove his fist into the soldier’s chest, causing him to skid flying across the floor, his body crashing against the wall with his head following closely behind.
There were two men left, and as Cane stood between them, he could feel the fear oozing off of their bones as they stood hesitant to engage. The soldiers looked at each other, giving each other the nod, then came charging at Cane. The soldier from the left side landed first and Cane blocked it with his forearm, and as the other went to strike, he grabbed his wrist, swept his legs, then kicked him across the room. His back cannoned off the training room wall and his chest shot out as if his soul was trying to leave before his body hit the ground.
And then there was one.
The last soldier, thinking that Cane’s guard was down, tried to sneak in a sly blow from behind, but even when Cane isn’t watching, he is always watching. Cane’s body snapped back around and caught the baton mid-action. The soldier looked at the baton, then at Cane, then back at the baton as if he had seen a ghost. His one window of opportunity to strike when his guard was down—gone.
Cane cast the baton to the side and the soldier stepped back in fear, but with every step he took, Cane took one forward.
“Good attempt, soldier. I applaud you. Every warrior must do whatever it takes to win a battle, and you did just that,” Cane said, his voice unreadable. “But not good enough.”
He seized the soldier by the throat, lifting him up effortlessly. His fingers tightened, crushing the man’s windpipe as his face turned red.
“Is this the best your men can offer? Do not worry yourself with a response, soldier—I already know the answer. The smell of fear oozes off your skin, a disease I and my father detest.”
The soldier raised his hands, begging for mercy, and as Cane threw him down and vanished again, the soldier looked upon it as a sign of pity. He scrambled back to his feet and bolted towards the exit.
“I see you did not heed my warning,” Cane’s voice echoed around the room, “nor learn from the mistakes of your fallen brethren.”
The man ran, heart hammering, eyes darting left and right, searching—but there was nothing. Then a strike hit him out of nowhere. He stumbled but kept running. Then another landed. He winced in agony but kept going. Then more followed from out of nowhere again, and he began to slow down. But his will to escape overrode his pain, so he picked up his heavy legs and ran as fast as he could.
But it wasn’t fast enough.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Chest, body, shoulder, legs—Cane would strike faster than the eye could react, and before the soldier knew it, he came to a halting stop, dropping to his hands and knees.
But there it was—just above him—the panel to get out of the training room. He could smell freedom in the air as his fingers reached up and punched in the code.
6—7—4…
One more digit to dial.
But he was tired, battered, and bloody, with nothing left. He thought of his family, dinner with his children and wife, then looked up with tears in his eyes and punched in the final number—
The panel turned green, and the door began to open slowly.
The soldier began to hallucinate. He saw his family standing on the other side.
But as he reached out and began to crawl, an orchestra of violence descended upon him—quick, vicious, unrelenting strikes rained down. Blow after blow until his body started to give out.
As he lay there, reaching up toward the door, the lead soldier entered, stepping over the fallen man without a single glance in his direction.
“I do hope that was enough to quench your appetite, sire,” he said carefully.
Cane turned his head slightly. His face told the story—he was anything but satisfied.
“Nothing can quench my insatiable hunger for war and violence, soldier. My heart beats to the drums of war and carnage. These men were merely an appetizer. Their weak flesh posed no challenge to a being like me.”
He stepped closer, eyes sharp. At the doorway, he paused.
“Find more,” Cane said calmly. “Find better. I want a challenge. I don’t care where you get them or what you have to do—just get them. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sire. Loud and clear.”