Well, at least he knows when he's beat.

For all his scampering around the ship and making his trickery, he put up surprisingly little of a fight. John wondered briefly if he was simply in a different class than his opponent.

Perhaps he was just too used to fighting to the death, but if you weren't prepared to fight to the death, then you weren't prepared for the citadel.

His head still rung, but it was too easy, and John was already thinking of his next fight as he formed a hammer in one hand, striking down his opponent as he bowed, surrendering.

A dull crack filled the interior of the ship, and Cain lay motionless as the world warped and twisted around him, and he appeared back in a dimly lit hallway, standing before Jor, the recently promoted Ai'Bron monk. He spoke, frowning.

"Well, that was mean of you."

John grunted in response. "There is no mercy on the battlefield, Jor."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean you have to be rude."