As Gabriel lay bleeding out on the cold stone floor, his mind wanders to a past memory.

  He stands in a dimly lit office, ancient tomes and relics glaze every nook and cranny of the room. The scent of old parchment and dust fills his nostrils as he pleads with his father, to allow him entry into the Phantasmal Depths.

  "I'm ready to join the Dread Requiem and prove myself, father!"

  Lord Victor glares up at his son from behind the large oak desk. They're only a few feet apart, but the distance between them feels more than just physical.

  "You do not decide when you are ready! Why do you want to go into that ghastly forest anyways? All that awaits you there is death, and decay! No. I forbid it. You don't even have anyone to train you! It’s clear to me how little thought you’ve put into this."

  "Please father, reconsider," Gabriel implores, his eyes burning with determination. "What of Mortimer? He became a member of the Abyssal Requiem just a few short years ago. Surely you have a way to contact him."

  Victor lets out a long, weary sigh, and holds his hands together. "Yes, I do have the means to call on Mortimer if it is absolutely necessary, but he hasn't the time to take on a child as a pupil! He is a very busy man, you know."

  "Do you still consider me a child at 22?"

  "Age means nothing! You and your brother will always be children to me. Life is finite, why are the two of you in a rush to die? I swear, that damned spirit does nothing but instill the dumbest of notions into people. Glory? Honor? None of it matters when you're dead…"

  A large, stained glass window rests behind Lord Victor. A depiction of Lord Death decorates it, and if you look past it, you're able to see the beginnings of the Veilwood Periphery. Small, incandescent lights can be seen roaming the forest. Gabriel likes to think that it is the local Whispers playing tag amongst themselves while they wait for their next ‘victim’.

  Gabriel sees something else though. Despite being on the third floor, a ghostly hand latches onto the windowsill before pulling itself up. It's a spirit, and one of great power at that. It appears as a swirling black mass and it throws itself at the window, phasing through as if it's not even there.

  Lord Victor freezes as its shadowy tendrils wrap themselves around his arms, and up the length of his neck. He doesn't so much as utter a spell as the spirit takes shape, her form wavering like a flame in the wind before solidifying its existence in the room.

  She leans in, her transparent visage mere inches from Lord Victor's ear.

  "Boo!"

  Victor jumps from his seat, and hits the floor with a solid thud. Clutching his chest, his face turns red with anger.

  "Ethel! You…you…"

  "You…what? Has baby Victor forgotten his big boy words?"

  "Quit treating me like a child! I am the Patriarch of this household, and you will respe-"

  Ethel assumes Victor's seat as if it's her own, and then leans down to face him. She pinches his cheek, giving it a long, playful tug.

  "But you are a baby to me, and you’re just so cute when you get scared! It is strange though, your father was fearless, but you've been a scaredy cat your whole life. Although it certainly has gotten worse in recent years…"

  At mention of his father, Victor's expression turns sour. Gabriel didn’t know why, but his father always gets like this when his grandfather, Percival is so much as mentioned. It isn’t sour in a spiteful way, but his mood is ruined regardless. More so than it already was.

  "Look, your son is eager to grow as a person. Why don't I become his mentor?"

  "What would you know of mentorship? You're just some spirit that should pass on sooner than later…"

  Ethel reaches down once more, gripping Victor’s jaw as she turns him to face her. "Since when did you talk back to your elders? Such grit is unlike you… I like it. Also I’ll have you know I was captain of the Dread Requiem in my time. Although that was well over two centuries ago, at least half the clan could breach the Phantasmal Depths. Tell me, who was it that mentored all of them?"

  "You…"

  "That’s right, it was-"

  "Enough, I see your point, Do what you will with my son, spirit."

  Moments later, Ethel and Gabriel are leaving the office, and Gabriel turns to her.

  "Thank you, Ethel."

  "No, thank you. It will be a pleasure to witness you grow stronger yet."

  "My father hasn't sent out any expeditions into Wraithwood-Hollow for as long as he's been the Patriarch," Gabriel confesses, frustration lacing his words. "He even raised the costs of commissions. Nobody can afford to hire us. Even a basic exorcism has the most exorbitant of prices. I just don't know what he's thinking... It's not like we need the money anyways, the vault is filled to the brim from generations of our families work. This kind of stuff isn't even something you should charge for, people need help, so we should help them!"

  "Your father is scared, Gabriel. You can't blame him for that, but that also doesn’t mean that you also need to be weak. Our clan's at a turning point right now, never in its history has it been in such... a pit."

  "Still," Gabriel presses, "what is he afraid of? I don't get it!"

  "That is… a difficult topic. I’ll tell you when you reach the Abyssal Requiem," she promises. "As far as your training goes though, you're plenty capable of becoming a member of the Dread Requiem as is. You’re already well aware of this, but you're one of the stronger ones in your generation. The only one who comes close to you in terms of strength is Miriam. Even then, she’s never managed to defeat you while you’re sparring, no matter what trick she throws at you. Although… you're incapable of controlling even the slightest bit of mana."

  Gabriel rolls his sleeve up to reveal the dark chains wrapped tightly around his forearm. It was to contain the wild magic that coursed within him. "I know, it's this damned disease. Without these chains, I…"

  "I know, Gabriel, I know. Because of this, you will need to work twice as hard. Your body is the only weapon you can rely on. There is only one thing I must teach you before I can allow you to enter the Phantasmal Depths."

  "What is it? I'll learn anything you ask."

  "It is a skill known as ‘One Foot in the Grave’, or ‘Dead Man Walking’. It is typically used by those associated with the Stygian Conclave. Our clan has made our own version via magic though. We call it ‘Ephemeral Expiration’. Mastering any of these three will suffice, but I would recommend one of the first ones. Once you’ve achieved this, I will allow you to traverse the Phantasmal Depths."

  "If the Stygian’s use it, then it must be a cowardly ability."

  "Oh, it is quite cowardly indeed. Although cowards live to fight another day. Either you learn this skill, or I will not allow you to go."

  "I'm not sure if it's right- '

  "I’m not saying that you must use it, but at least know it, for the sake of the future. It would put this old soul at ease."

  "...Alright Ethel, I’ll learn it."

  One Foot in the Grave. It was a skill that lowered one's heart rate and made them appear as though they were deceased. Just as Gabriel had thought, it was extremely cowardly, and was to only be used only in life or death situations.

  *

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  "Live to fight another day."

  Gabriel comes back from the thought. He had never imagined the day he would actually use this skill. Gabriel's vision blurs, and the world seems to slow alongside his heartbeat. He feels his consciousness slipping away from him, tethered precariously to the land of the living. His heart pounds like a distant drum in his chest, its rhythm gradually fading until it is barely audible.

  He watches Sarah through half-closed eyes, her battered form standing valiantly against her foes. The Stygian assassins laugh at her pitiful state, their voices grating against Gabriel's frayed nerves.

  One of them strides forward, a malicious grin plastered on his face as he licked his lips. "Man, do we really need to kill them all? This one's kind of pretty. Maybe we could just take her back with us and have some fun with her."

  A boiling hatred surges within Gabriel, but his weakened body refuses to respond. All he can do is watch helplessly as the vile man reaches for Sarah with his filthy hands. Yet, in an instant, Sarah seems to spring to life, plunging a curved dagger into the man's jaw, and through the roof of his mouth.

  "You want me to come home with you? You guys sure do talk a lot of shit, but you are right about one thing. We are going to have a lot of fun."

  As Sarah reads the man's mind, Gabriel can see his pain as her own. A reflection of the pain she endured in that brief mental connection to the man she had just stabbed. She winces, but she does not falter; instead, she releases her hostage and meets the next Stygian head-on. "One…" The moment the assassin makes contact with Sarah, she sees the world through his eyes and twists his arm behind his back, before stomping on the back of his leg.

  As he falls, she runs her blade across his throat without hesitation, blood staining her hand. "That’s two..."

  Sarah's breaths come in rapid, shallow gasps as the Stygian’s surround her, a cacophony of steel and vicious snarls filling the air. Sarah expected them to turn and run after the fifth one she killed, but the Stygians were accustomed to seeing their comrades fall, so such a sight did not deter them.

  As the battle carries on, Sarah is injured at least one time for each Stygian. She has to allow them to make contact with her so that she can see. Blood oozes from her each of these wounds, matting her dark hair and staining her clothes. Despite the pain and exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her, she remains nimble, weaving between the deadly blades with an uncanny grace. With each touch, she delves into the minds of her attackers, anticipating their movements and turning their own aggression against them.

  Gabriel, hidden in plain sight, watches as his heart swells with both pride and trepidation. The sight of Sarah fighting so fiercely, even on the brink of collapse, filled him with hope that she might yet emerge victorious. But the morbid reality of her injuries, the ragged stump where her arm had once been, and the blood streaming down her face from those empty eye sockets gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

  "Lord Death, please let her hold out just a little longer. Give her the strength to endure until the last of those Stygian scum are dead and gone…"

  A cold, commanding voice slices through the chaos, silencing both the clatter of weapons and the cries of the assassins.

  "What's taking so long!?!" A new face strides into view, her presence immediately dominating the space as the few remaining Stygians back away from Sarah, fear etched onto their faces.

  Sarah is able to grab hold of one and take him hostage. A blade to his throat as she looks through his eyes at her attackers.

  She is a woman of great beauty. Gabriel’s never seen anyone like her before. Long, purple hair cascades down her back, and she walks with an air of confidence he’s only seen twice before in his life. She is adorned in numerous ornamental pieces. A tiara, a large, jade necklace, rings on each finger. Her entire being demands attention from all. The thing that Gabriel focuses on most of all though is her mask. There isn’t one.

  The Stygians attempt to stammer out an explanation, desperate to appease the woman.

  "Mistress Nocturne! There's a blind girl, but it's like she can see! She's already killed a dozen of us!"

  "You idiots! Did none of you read up on the targets? That is Sarah Crowsong of the Eternal Requiem. She can read the minds of individuals, and share their senses if she comes into physical contact with them. It’s likely she can see you even better without her eyes. The way I see it, it's less distractions for her."

  "H-How are we supposed to fight someone that can read minds?..." One of the Stygian’s mutters.

  "Oh… How indeed…"

  Mistress Nocturne prowls closer to Sarah, her movements resemble that of a predator more than they did a human's. The remaining Stygians look on, their earlier laughter and taunts now replaced with tension and unease.

  "You're different from the others," Sarah snarls, trying to ignore the pain throbbing throughout her body as she stands her ground. "Who the fuck are you?"

  "Me?" The woman replies, a cold smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I am Isabelle, Isabelle Nocturne, one of four leaders of the Conclave.

  "There is one enemy you must never fight."

  Ethel’s words find their way into Gabriel’s mind once more as his heart clenches in fear. The maskless one. It’s her, but she looks completely different from earlier. The very same one who had killed Marcus and… and taken his skin. The same one who left him with such a grievous wound.

  "She wears them like a second-skin."

  Gabriel didn’t know how she did it, but she stole faces. Was she truly even a she then? Her true identity was a complete mystery if that was the case, but she’s strong, too strong for Sarah to fight. He wills his body to move once more, he tries to scream, but this does not happen.

  "Watch closely," Isabelle commands her fellow assassins. "I'll show you how to deal with someone like her." With a swift movement, Isabelle drops to the floor, her own dagger slicing through the skull of the Stygian hostage that Sarah had been using to see. The man's head explodes into a spray of viscera, and bone fragments. Sarah flinches as she feels the pain as her own, and at the speed and sheer brutality of the act.

  "First, you take away her eyes."

  Sarah backs away as she tries to anticipate her opponent's next move. She feels exposed, vulnerable even, but she refuses to let her fear control her as she raises her blade in anticipation.

  Isabelle throws a dagger at Sarah, who narrowly manages to dodge it. But a second dagger follows, embedding itself in her thigh with a sickening squelch. A pained cry escapes Sarah's lips as she wrenches the blade free, blood welling up from the fresh wound.

  "Second, if you know she's fast, then slow her down," Isabelle continues, launching herself forward and grabbing hold of Sarah's wrist.

  For a brief moment, Sarah peers into the mind of Isabelle Nocturne, and this causes her to scoff in utter disgust.

  "You might just be the ugliest sack of shit I have seen in all my life, and I have lived, dammit! What the fuck even are you-"

  Sarah knew before she got hit, that she had managed to strike the most delicate of nerves. Isabelle's fist meets Sarah's jaw with enough force to leave her dazed.

  Even in Sarah's darkness, she can see stars.

  "Third!" Isabelle shouts out to her fellow Stygians, "it doesn't matter if she can read your mind, as long as you move faster than she can react." With that, she lets go of Sarah's arm. Isabelle moves like a wraith, disappearing into the shadows before striking again with no remorse.

  Sarah quickly gives up on predicting her enemies movement, opting to flail blindly. If any other opponent stood before her, she may have had a chance, but her strategy proves to be ineffective as she takes a hit to the ribcage. Each blow that’s hammered into Sarah's body only overwhelms her senses, and drains her of what little strength she has left.

  "Having trouble, are we?" Isabelle taunts, her words like daggers. "What's the matter? Can't take a few hits? You looked like you were having such fun killing my men just a moment ago!"

  Gabriel, lying motionless but fully aware under the table, watches on in horror.

  "Please, someone, anyone... Help us."

  But he already knows that there was no one that could help now. Not against that thing.

  Gabriel clenches his teeth as he cancels the effect of One Foot in the Grave, his body shudders with the sudden return of sensation. Every muscle screams for relief, but there is no time for that now. He refuses to watch Sarah die, too many have been lost already.

  "What kind of a Lord would I be if I let my people die," Gabriel grunts, his heart pounding in his chest. Desperation fuels him, and he cries out, trying to force himself off the floor as a Stygian approaches the table, sneering down at him.

  "Mistress Nocturne, one of them is still alive under here! That is one big fucker, and he can’t even stand!" The Stygian laughs cruelly at Gabriel's pain, but Gabriel ignores it.

  In that moment, a whisper echoes in the back of his mind, begging and bartering for sustenance.

  "Hungry… Feed me… Feed me, I hunger…"

  Over and over it asks, no, demands nourishment.

  "Hungry, hungry, hungry, hungry, hungry…"

  "Feed me… I will give you all that you desire."

  "There is no such thing as power without a price, Gabriel."

  Ethel had imparted much knowledge upon him, but he didn't care anymore. There was one thing he wanted now, and he knew what he needed in order to achieve it.

  Grave-Breaker whispers sweet promises to him, swearing to give him what he desires most in this life.

  The choice couldn't have been easier.

  Gabriel already knows the words, he feels them from deep within the depths of his soul. His voice is hardly audible, as if the command was spoken from his very heart.

  "Grave-Breaker, eat."

  The skull at the end of the mace rattles as its maw unhinges, animating with a life of its own. The souls of the dead are drawn towards it as if it had been starved for all eternity. Souls begin to swirl around the weapon as it feeds on their energy, one at a time.

  All eyes in the room turn to Gabriel, and a white, fiery explosion erupts from within him. The table is unable to endure this, and explodes, sending wooden shrapnel flying through the air. The pieces pierce the nearby Stygians, screams of pain can be heard from them. Gabriel stands alone in the heart of the blast, untouched. Around him, souls of the dead begin to scream, and within him, something older begins to wake.