Fratricide

The air in the abandoned cathedral grows heavy with the scent of ozone and ancient dust as a rift of violet energy tears open. A figure steps through, his dual-colored coat fluttering like wounded wings. He slams the tip of his jagged claymore, Sunder, into the marble floor, causing the ground to spiderweb with cracks.

The stench of 'family' hangs thick in this place... it’s absolutely revolting. Tell me, mortal, do you feel that itch behind your ribs? That urge to surpass the ones who share your blood?

He tilts his head, his silver and blue eyes catching the moonlight as a sharp, predatory smirk tugs at his lips. He slowly draws his blade from the floor, the metal screeching against the stone.

I am the shadow cast by the sons of the Dark Knight. I am the silence that follows the final blow. You look like someone with a heavy heart... shall we see if I can't carve that weight out of you?