The crisp tap of footsteps echoes throughout the abandoned factory as I follow the bandaged man across the floor towards the circle of chairs. Rachel at my side, we walk with the leader of the Black Parade until we join the rest of the congregation.

Hidden faces turn to acknowledge our presence. Excluding the bandaged man, Rachel and myself, I count four. Four individuals, all donning different masks and disguises. The clown woman, Huntress, I heard her called, nudges Rachel from her space and takes her place in the circle at my side.

'Huntress, do play nice.' The guild leader says.

'I am playing nice, Sire. She's still breathing, isn't she?' Though muffled by his dressing, the leader sighs.

'Nonsense dispensed with, I think we're ready to begin.' The gauzed man says. 'First, let me introduce you to two new candidates to join our little band of killers and thieves. Reaper and Iris.'

Two?

No.

'These two made contact with our guild in a bid to join our ranks. As is our custom, I have prepared an initiation of sorts.' At his words, the ginger-haired woman screeches.

'A kill quest!' She says excitedly. ' Sire, my Sire, you spoil me rotten.' Laughing widely, Huntress jumps up and down, glee unrestrained. 'Come on now. Don't keep me in suspense. Who's our target?'

'There's been a misunderstanding. The only one joining today is me. Iris is my serving girl. A mortal, nothing more.' Pausing her merriment, Huntress turns to face me.

'My sweet boy, there's no misunderstanding. That bunny-boiling bitch is the one who approached us. She's the one with a contact in our guild. There are no spectators in the Black Parade. There are only participants and victims. Though, I suppose I wouldn't really mind putting her in the second category. No, I wouldn't mind at all.'

Pulling a knife from her waist, Huntress licks the edge of the blade, slicing her tongue. Wetting her lips with blood, she smears a fresh coat of red over her clownish makeup.

'I wouldn't have put it quite like that', Sire says. 'She is, however, correct. Iris knows the true identity of one of our current members. If you should join us, that would be two of our ranks she would be aware of. For her to be so knowledgable and not implicated, I'm afraid that's impossible.'

Fury contorts my breathing. My hand clenches into a fist. How dare they? How dare they threaten what is mine? The girl is inconsequential; my property, but it's for me and me alone to decide what I do with my belongings. How dare they lay claim to what is mine?

'It's okay.' Rachel says.

Breathing steady, I face Sire. 'She stays by my side the whole mission.' Left-arm reaching past the madwoman, I take Rachel's hand and pull her back to my side. Fingers gripping wrist, I feel the thud of her pulse.

'That is acceptable', Sire replies.

'You're just no fun, you know that?' Huntress whines. 'Still, a lot can happen in a kill quest. You might just find it's a lot more difficult to keep watch over one little mortal than you think.' Chuckling softly, she sends shivers through Rachel's body as she runs her fingers down the back of Rachel's head.

'Now that's been established, Night-Raid, why don't you regale us with the details for tonight's operation?' The bandaged man says. A girl dressed entirely in black steps forward from the jagged circle. Her balaclava obscures her age, but exuding a youthful presence, it's clear to me she's not much older than I am.

'Our target is the stronghold of the Wyatt Clan just south of Leafton', Night-Raid begins. 'Having lost most of their Escalades and Tension Masters in a failed exploration of the lowest floor of the Academy's Tower, they stand on the edge of namelessness as it is. From the information I've gathered, their defences are limited to a handful of Tension Masters and an abundance of mortal serfs.'

'The mission is this', Sire interjects. 'Attack the stronghold. Take what you can. Kill all you see. Our client isn't willing to leave the demise of the Wyatt Clan to chance. They wish to ensure their total annihilation.' Pausing, he lets his words sink in.

'The split is as it always is. Twenty percent of your gains is to be surrendered to me, and ten percent to the vice-captain. The remainder is yours to enjoy. Once the mission is complete, we'll return here, divide the spoils and go our separate ways.'

'Enough talk, let's go have some fun.' Huntress says.

Dissolving the circle, the members of Black Parade along with Rachel and me, follow the captain and vice-captain towards the rear of the factory. Passing through rust burdened doors, we arrive at the back of the building. Waiting for us, two carriages attached by harness to mammoth-sized, wolf-like creatures. Six legs instead of four, these creatures emit subdued brutality with every guttural sound produced from their throat. Carving claw marks as they wait, Rachel and I board the buggy to the left.

Adorned in luxury, the settee in the interior of the buggy transmits a velvety feel of comfort as I take a seat. Taking her place beside me, Rachel sits, maintaining an upright posture. Sire enters the coach. Following him, a tall man wearing a skull mask steps inside and seals the door shut.

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A whip cracks from outside of the coach, spurring the buggy into motion. Gravel crunches then crackles as the vehicle picks up speed.

'Unsure of your weapon of choice', Sire says. 'I procured a few options for you and your young lady.' Directing my eyes to the side of the waggon, Sire waves his arms towards a display of armaments fastened to the walls.

'When we arrive, take your pick. Every piece you see here is Omni-forged from the finest ingredients that can be obtained in this little region of Area VI. I do believe you'll find them to your liking.'

Nodding my acknowledgement, I shut my eyes, and to the rhythm of our advancement, I focus my mind on other matters.

In the months prior to this moment, I've nearly expended my entire reserves of coins and other valuable resources. I regret nothing. A Tower, any Tower carries risks to those who step foot inside. With a target on my back, the risk to my life guaranteed by ascending is simply unacceptable.

Preparations as inevitable as my need to take risks, I spent wantonly, reducing my tidy fortune amassed through pillage to a pauper's savings. Arrangements not yet complete, of course, I needed to find a source of income in order to make my advancement viable. With Rachel my Herald, I reached out to this Black Parade so that I can fill my coffers once more with the gains of sorrow.

Like a surge of electricity rising from my stomach to my chest, anxiety, no, fear asserts its grip over my consciousness. Not the fear of danger. Certainly not the fear of my companions, but fear nonetheless. I don't understand it.

Cooling my heart with resolve, I reject that fear. I reject the hesitation building inside of me. I've made my choice. I know what I am. I am what Father raised me to be; a killer. A boy-faced monster nursed with the lamentations of my obstacles.

Two, maybe three hours pass, and our coach slows to a trot. A minute or two goes by, and the soft churn of wheels on soil ceases entirely.

'It would appear we've arrived.' Sire says. Lifting himself from his seat, he opens the door to the carriage, selects a pistol from the wall, and jumps outside. Matching his movements, Rachel and I take a dagger and a sword respectively from the display before exiting the vehicle. The skull-faced man steps out behind us.

Before us, a colossal wall of brick and mortar stands. Encircling that which hides within, not a gap in the enemy's defences is apparent. From where I stand, slabs of metal are seen guarding the entrance to this fortress. Faintly, I feel pulsations of Tension inlaid within sections of the bulwark. The stronghold of even a low-tier Clan isn't something to underestimate.

Moving from his place to the front of the waggon, Sire strokes the furred head of the six-legged wolf. Addressing the black-cloaked whip on the reigns, he tosses him a silver coin and tells the man to wait where he is.

'Ah, fine choices', the bandaged man says while looking and Rachel and me. 'Run some Tension through that sword, boy, and you'll find it capable of increasing or decreasing its weight.' Directing his face at Rachel, he continues.

'As you're a mortal, I'm afraid most of the functionality in that blade you have is lost to you. Still, in a pinch, it's better to have a weapon in hand than to not.'

Drawn by ferocious beast, a second carriage comes to a halt near the first. The door barges open, and Huntress jumps out of the coach. Splaying her arms to the side, she arches her back so that her face greets the moonlight, and she breaths deeply of the air.

'I can already smell it', she exclaims. 'I can smell the blood and fear of tonight's festivities.'

'Tantalising!'

'Intoxicating!'

'Invigorating!'

'Ah, this most excellent aroma. Do you smell it yet? The air just before a kill.'

The woman's insane. There's no doubt about it. She's insane, and she's seen my face. There's no question as to whether she's going to become a problem for me. The only question is, when will her danger manifest? Preparing myself for the Yung Clan's retribution is troublesome enough. Now I have something else I need be concerned with…

No matter.

When all is said and done, when the smoke clears and the casualties counted, I will be the one to stand tall above all adversaries.

'The enemy is weak. There's no need for stealth, so why not start the night's revelries with a bang?' Huntress says.

'I have just the thing', Sire says back. Pointing his pistol at the walls of the stronghold, he loads a scarlet marble into the chamber. With a snap, the pistol's form is returned and the trigger is pulled.

The marmoreal projectile connects with the wall. All at once, the serenity of our surroundings is undone. An explosion deafens the sky. Smoke floods the atmosphere. Tranquillity renounced, brick tumbles to earth, and bells cry out.

The smoke clears. Leading Rachel by the arm, I enter the cavity carved out by flame. Within the grounds of the fortress, guards armed with swords, shields, and muskets pour out of the surrounding buildings. With a knife in each hand, Huntress charges the enemy. Moving at breathtaking speeds, she swerves between her opponents, lacerating their throats as she goes. Without even the time to cry out before blood spurts from their necks, the men met by Huntress' blades and laughter collapse to the floor.

'Excellent!'

'Excellent!'

'Excellent!' The demon sings, as she dances in blood and terror.

Sire throws a satchel; I catch it.

'This celebration is for you, my boy. Go drink your fill of mayhem and get drunk on the blood of our offering.'

'Let's go.' Taking Rachel by the arm, I move towards the nearest building, a manor of stone and glass. Drawing my sword, I cut through the mortals that block my path, colouring my blade in viscous red.

Breaching the manor, I walk through the halls of the building. Unarmed men and women flee from their rooms, scattering in every direction available to them. Ignoring their pleas for mercy, I launch myself at the crowd. With each swipe of my arm, heads drop to the floor. and necks erupt in a fountain of blood.

My movements mechanical, trained, engraved into every fibre of my being. I barely notice the wails of terror or the cries of sorrow as I slice out for myself a trail of blood. Isn't this what's most natural for me? The slaughter of innocents, Father's favoured sport. Who am I if not my father's son?

Staining the carpeted stairs in the fluids of my victims, I bolt to the second storey of the mansion. The sound of bells and screaming reduced to a whisper, I continue my bloodbath, sparing none along the way.

A door creeps open in the corner of my eye. Abruptly it slams shut. The squelch of blood-drenched shoes announces my travels as I move towards the occupied room just sealed. Turning the handle, I feel a soft resistance. Exerting more force, the resistance crumbles, and I push through the door.

Children.

Two of them.

A girl and a boy no older than eight stumble backwards and hold each other in a panicked embrace. My arm drops to my side as my resolve falters.

They're children…

I can't…

A familiar chill runs through my core, suppressing my objections. Walking towards the cowering youth, I raise my sword.

'No!'

Soft fingers wrap tightly around my wrist. Turning my head to the side, Rachel stands, holding back my arm.