Describing my experience with Eclipse is complicated. Even today, I couldn't describe how far its roots ran. It's only really my experiences with Titan that I can start seeing the comparisons. Before the Pantheon stepped to the plate, Titan was the underworld's behemoth, always watching and delegating with mountain-sized eyes and a gargantuan hammer from on high.

Their presence is felt throughout the underworld, only keeping secrecy through their centuries-long vice grip on the business and media. Eclipse is the polar opposite, though. They thrived in the deep cracks of organized crime, letting every agent operate on a need-to-know basis before striking people at their absolute weakest. Any other dealings and meetings were only so they could puppeteer a profit without anyone the wiser.

Their small size and enigmatic nature also meant their agents had to be versatile, adaptable, and, most of all, ruthless. My "teacher" and supervisor, Zhi, was a first-hand expert on three principles as she imparted them to me through mind and body.

"Faster, Taotie, FASTER!"

"You need to extend your legs. Two inches higher on the next roundhouse, or I swear I'll pull it out its socket."

"If you can't hit vitals, aim for joints, arteries, or temples. Create a weak point if there isn't one."

"Don't just hide your presence. Scope out your environment and your opponent. Keeping track of both while you plan your next move will be instrumental."

And so the process continued for months, or at least what felt like months. During my training, most connections with the outside world got cut off, making my sense of time dodgy. Not that it would matter. Rain or shine, day or night, Zhi never stopped with every "lesson" full of commands, insults, and backhands more cutting than any blade, with each horrid order usually being paired off through a-.

"Do I make myself clear, Taotie?"

The same monotonous answer from yours followed them truly.

"Yes, Zhi," I said with a dead stare.

Even though I never reached Zhi's "perfection," the results were apparent. When I went to war with Asad, I was merely a fledgling. Half my victory relied on being too stubborn to die or jump half-cocked. Under Eclipse's afterglow, my tactics and martial skills flourished closer to what you see now. Muay Thai, Judo, Taekwondo, and Krav Maga mixed alongside my MMA to form a living weapon.

Weigh in the escapology, stealth, multilingual, survival tips plus interrogation, and the underworld can thank Eclipse for the ghost they have today in more ways than one. As I felt the apathetic blight of the fluorescents in my meager room before rest each night, the thoughts of doubt became even more potent. And just when I had reached my lowest point, thinking I had just myself up for a slower death, Zhi opened the door. Sunken eyes and ringing ears converged on every restrained microexpression, as she stated.

"Get up. It's time."

Silently, I got up like I was one of Pavolv's dogs. As we walked across the age-old halls of our base, I could see Zhi walking with newfound purpose and hurry, the first time I'd ever seen them take care of someone else's time. I pondered, wondering what could cause that miracle, only to be interrupted by the woman herself.

"You know you surprised me."

"How so?" I said suspiciously.

"There were multiple times where I thought my training brought you over the edge or, worse, push you to escape. Instead, you carried through far differently than the others, " she said coldly.

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"You're not exactly making it sound like a good thing."

"That's cause I don't know if it is. I guess only time will tell."

Until we entered a new room entirely when I joined, the drab and blase rooms I had spent weeks in suddenly transformed into a small space filled with scented candles, columns of ink-laden bottles, and a raised chair. Taking the lead, Zhi then stepped forward.

"She's ready."

The shadows then seemed to concave on themselves as a bald Caucasian man with black goggles, gloves, and a shirt appeared. In their hands were a futuristic tattoo machine and an unopened envelope. Zhi took the latter while giving a command.

"Choose where you want your tattoo. Try making it at least a littl inconspicous."

Realizing what it meant, I took a big gulp before undoing my shirt enough to show off the back of my upper left shoulder. As I approached the chair, my footsteps seemed to grow heavier by the second as Zhi started the procedure. Deep conviction poured into her voice, sprouting out an aura that darkened the room.

"Sarah Walters, when you bear this mark, you embrace all it's honor and duties. The oath to trudge through the darkness this world brings as both a faithful soldier and phantom overseer. And to eclipse those who stray from the light."

The sheer will present in her words crashed over me like a harsh gale, tightening skin and muscle as I felt the tattoo's burning needle go into my backside. Once the ceremony was through, the next few weeks were a blur of much-needed recovery and rest while brushing up on what few details from Eclipse could get. And when I got Zhi's clean bill of health, it was finally time to take my first mission. And my first victim.

His name is Leopold Ortiz, a starward politician set on his confident campaign to be Barcelona's next mayor. A goal that was extremely close to succeeding if the polls and ballots were to be believed. Unfortunately, he made the locals cheer with promises of reform and pictures of kissing babies by day. During the night, he entertained a very different kind of audience.

Corrupt cops, drug traffickers, enforcers, smugglers, and almost everyone who funded his unopposed campaign would earn their keep when he took the throne. Of course, smear campaigns and hungry enough journalists were able to dig up some illicit clues. But it was always like casting a pebble across a lake. There were ripples at first but never enough force to make waves before the eventual cascade.

After dodging the police's umpteenth investigation, Barcelona's up-and-coming golden boy was practically bulletproof. I'll be the judge of that, though. After all, I have already slain a lion once. This close to the race's finish line, as long as I didn't make it look too deliberate or messy, any rival politician can take the blame. No, this was my first taste of what I thought was freedom, and I wanted to play around with my prey.

A few minutes of scanning his high-end homestead helped me craft a story. When I got within Leopold's earshot, I turned my footsteps from falling snow to pouring hail, stirring him away from slumber enough to lure him out. Looking at him, without the aid of a burnt-up dossier or digitally altered campaign ad, I can see why he was loved.

He was a Hispanic man in his late forties, commanding a messy dark brown quiff hairstyle with several tasteful streaks of gray hair and an athletic slim build. A physique perfect for a supposed hero as he rubbed the crust from his eyes on his silk burgundy robe while groggily calling out.

"Chiquito, is that you out there?"

When he didn't get his answer, the man shrugged his shoulders, ready to depart, till he heard another faithful knock. Aggravation slowly crept into his exhaustion as he spoke out to the void.

"This isn't funny, Chiquito. Papá has to go to bed."

Once again, no one answers, causing his frustration to peak. Leopold then muttered a small but solid string of curses as he walked towards a kitchen bigger than most apartments. When his gray slippers finally stopped, he looked at his destination like greeting an old friend.

With the grace of a surgeon and speed of a typewriter, Leopold pilfered through a cabinet as big as an armoire, choked to the brim with wine bottles. When he correctly filled the wine glass, he tried corking the bottle back, but halfway through, he stopped.

"Eh, what the hell?"

Leopold then walked towards a marble counter, enjoying his decades-old brew with every swig. However, when his nerves were finally starting to settle, I intervened. Tracking his dark green eyes, I made an intentional dart out of his line of sight. The man's head then immediately swerved back alongside his annoyance.

"Okay, Chiquito, you've won. I give up. Papá doesn't want to play hide and seek anymore."

Realizing my preparations were complete. I decided to honor my opponent's final request.

"Neither do I."

As sudden as a lightning strike, I descended like an archangel on blackened wings. Razor-sharp wiring barely a few centimeters thick surrounded his throat. Leopold instantly crumbled under its might when the line fully tightened as he feverishly tried clawing away at the wire. Only to realize through his bloodied, raw fingers that he was doing more damage to himself than anything.

Powering through his bulging-out eyes and pulsing veins for his drink, he hoped to grab a makeshift weapon. However, as I kicked his knee, I made sure his salvation was always out of reach, oh so very close but forever out of reach. The final blow to his liver practically sealed his fate, leaving him to desperately gasp for air like he was trying to grasp at straws until his body stopped resisting.

Still, like the professional I was, I kept going for finality, gently resting his body on the harsh floor. Sick satisfaction spread throughout my body as I let the fresh corpse drop, seeing whatever deathly contortion his last face left him. However, that wasn't what truly haunted me that night. It was what came after. Because when I was about to leave, I didn't realize the cub would be awake.

I had to be under the watchful eye of a boy. Not even half my cousin Darius' age stared at me with the innocence only a child would bring. Their faces gave out anxiety and intrigue, staying stunned and slack-jawed at my presence. When I looked deeper into his dark green eyes, I realized he was the Chiquito Leopold was referencing earlier.

A simple fact that sent a thousand "Crap and a half's" rattling through my skull like maracas. Still, I kept my poker face strong and held a finger up to a shushing, puckered lip, hoping the motion could cross any language barrier. After several tense seconds, I passed us both as the world stood still before the boy raised his hand and hurriedly crept back to his room. I then departed from the Ortiz home, wondering if I could leave the city faster than the future cries of an orphan.