The crowd was terrified, blood and rainwater mixed into a dark red turbid stream rushing forth, with piercing screams blending with the sound of the rain, becoming the prelude to chaos. Lorenzo stood on this cold stage, gripping the folding blade in his hand.
In the curtain of rain, he couldn't find Moriarty's figure. Logically, Moriarty wouldn't let Lorenzo detect his whereabouts either. This was a dangerous man who had set his eyes on Lorenzo long ago, devising a series of "games" to capture him.
Lorenzo gently stroked the back of his neck where Moriarty had just attacked. He never imagined Moriarty would dare to appear before him in person. Reality mixed with falsity; even Lorenzo, a master of deception, had been fooled.
Yet Moriarty still gave him the feeling of playing a game, never viewing any of this as a slaughter, a war. Actually, the game had ended at that moment. Had Moriarty swung a blade, that strike might have decapitated Lorenzo, but he didn't.
