Kishima City

The mists hung heavy coating various surfaces and plants with a fine dew that was refreshing after the long and dry summer. The sounds of people strolling amongst the wooden walkways of the city echoed uncannily as if they stood right beside you. The beauty of the place was plain to see,it's ancient style buildings a reminder of times long gone, the clothing faint reminders of a society based on honor and duty. The air was clean and sweet with none of the pollution of the more modern cities of Acadine. Overpopulation wasn't an issue this city of mists and history was home to either the very rich or the very lucky.

Most thought of Kishima city as the prefect piece of peace and tranquility with the rich petitioning to the city council for years to build a estate within this slice of history. But none of that mattered to the man clad in red armor and sanguine cloak who's sword and daggers were considered little more then display pieces by the fools of modern society. His steps were firm and measured the gait of warrior but the absolute silence they fell with suggested a dark occupation. Most shied unconsciously from this man as if afraid of him, a wise action although if they knew the truth behind this man in his ancient armor carrying ancient weapons perhaps they would have run instead.

A palatial estate done in white with blue roofs resolved itself from the mists as the man walked further down the walkway. A impressive looking facade it was obviously designed as a fortress but in these days it was odd to see an fortified house. After all warfare was hardly rampart nor did those foolish rich who lived in this city did soldiers target the rich. Standing outside in the standard robes of current city fashion were two brutes of men their hips adorned with enough firepower to lay waste to a whole platoon of soldiers. That silent stride carrying the man in red armor to them the brutes spoke a challenge.

" What color is the night sky brother?" One of them spoke his voice deep and menacing yet at the same time slightly quivering, the man in the red armor true story was known to him. The quiver in his voice the result of a common fear, all men no matter their words fear death.

" Sanguine my brothers." The man clad in that ancient red armor spoke in reply. His voice had a odd echoing quality to it as if two people spoke at once at the exact same time.

" By Shadow and Steel Welcome back home Brother." The other Brute spoke doing a masterfully job of hiding his fear as the man in the red armor walked past him the aura of death frightening even this hardened killer.

The man in red armor for his part paid them little attention after passing them, such things did not catch his attention anymore then the passing of fly. Once inside the true nature of the place was clear to see the weapons racks and training grounds, the screams of acolytes being tortured for their failures, and the scent of death and blood hanging heavy on the air marked it as the headquarters of assassins. This single building was responsible for shaping history. It trained individuals who ruthlessly enforced order through chaos and murder. Who dispatched problem individuals with swift death and ended wars with a single attack. To fight evil they worshiped it and became one with it and so they killed their mercy. They embraced damnation to hunt the damned all the mean while using the greed of humanity to fund their efforts.

Ignoring it all the man in red armor strode up the stairs to the very top floor it's austere nature speaking much of the man who sat before the open balcony gazing over the misty city of Kishima.

" So it is true what the Goddess Oribelle says, a doom approaches us born of her folly. How foolish she was to think by reforming Cerberus evil would be cleansed from this land. Cerberus at the very least was a known quantity something we all could live with expect the fool of whore Goddess. Evil deserves to be consumed by evil. No she is a fool and because of it we are all paying. Hecate is unknown to us, her motivates and desire anyone's guess.Oribelle must accept the fact evil will flourish no matter her attempts that all her and we can do is control it's spread. When she made us capable of sin and capable of virtue she created evil. Short of wiping every single being and herself from reality nothing we do will destroy evil...." And here the man in the white robe took a deep breath as if tired of it all. "Ren did any of Hecate's children talk?' He asked after a few moments of silence.

Ren as the man in the red armor seemed to be called answer with that same echoing quality to his voice only the man white robe showed no fear at it's nature." The ones I found did not, most seemed confused about their purpose let alone their Divine Mother. As a result I killed them all. All though one did taunt me telling me I would find out soon enough."

" Very Well then Ren keep searching one of them is bound to talk sooner or later. At the very least we can not allow these foul creatures to live." The man in the white robe spoke with a heavy sigh closing his eyes to signifying this meeting was over.

Ren with a short bow left the room running a hand through his shaggy black hair that framed the pale skin of his face. His long fingers and hand shared the same pale nature almost as if there was no blood flowing through his veins. Which was the truth, Ren's physical body was dead kept alive by his immortal soul bound to it. He was a Revenant a spirit brought back for a purpose although Immortal he wasn't alive but rather connected to both worlds. He couldn't die by viture of walking both worlds at once. But it was a hollow existence, a cursed existence his immortality brought by the blood and soul of an innocent child the only trade Death was willing to accept. But his curse also gave him power and a abilities beyond even the most powerful mortal. But every 100 years Death demanded a trade for his immortality, which meant another innocent must be killed in the prescribed manner.

The horror needed to fuel his existence was lost on this unfeeling assassin. His soul was as dead as his body. Mercy, Compassion, Humanity none of it mattered to him. Only the purpose of his existence, the goal he had been tasked with matter. People where merely tools to be used and discarded as needed. No such word as friend, no such word as love, nothing could live in a dead soul. To his eyes the world was nothing more then a dead lifeless garden. But even that was a feeling not entertained by this undead assassin.

His strides in the utter silence carried him out of that tower of assassins and past the walkways of the city. The sight and sounds of the city bursting with life. The pedllars selling everything from guns to flowers echoed loudest, the sight of young lovers waking hand and hand were everywhere. But this was ignored by this unfeeling tool of fate. Ren had died nearly 500 years ago now his body did the bidding of fate without falter but also without caring. His soul a black empty void he was incapable of caring.