Cain tilted his head slightly at the notion. A go? Was the man suggesting a fight? He stepped out of the shadows and into the sunlight. He had sparred before, as a child and into his preteenage years. He was thirteen when he reached the rank of master assassin. He made three handsigns: Tora, Uma, and holding on Mi. His armor plates shot off his body and lodged into the ground. He left his mask on, but peeled his shirt down, tying it around his waist. His body was like a marble statue of the highest quality sculpting. Every muscle and tendon seemed to have definition, even more so when he moved. It was like he hadn't an ounce of fat on him, and his muscles were built lean and toned. Clearly he was built for speed, but his strength was undeniable. His skin was almost as pale as the Roman statues too, not counting the intricate array of runes and spell incantations tattooed over every inch of him from the jaw line down to his firngertips and toes. The only thing that broke the flow of the markings were the scattered scars of many years of his training and fighting. Cain's body was a walking display of his history. Once he was ready to fight he stepped into the actual yard and took stance, but before anything. He spoke to Amuné. 

"Am I still not to hurt this man?" He asked, peeking over his shoulder to her with metallic eyes. This was a bad time to let his guard down, but he doubted that Kirk would kill him. [@shylarah]