Rise from your grave

In the vast expanse of the hellscape, there are pillars and mounds of bone, stone, flesh and blood. Many are simply bodies of demons and weak-willed creatures of an era long past. Amongst them is a human, a warrior of shadow thought lost to time and the plane of eternal damnation.

He stirs.

Visions of crumbling buildings and panicked faces are blurred to him. All he can think is a word. Run.

He goes with two by his side, both familiar to him. Two that he can trust.

A fight. With one he is being hunted by. Fear.

It slaughters the two with him, no mercy or quarter given. Vengence.

He doesn't think, he acts as he grips onto his dagger and rushes toward the monster.

He stabs.

He awakens.

The flaming sky above gives him no comfort as he tries to stand up. How long has it been?

He finds it difficult to find his footing, weakened over time in a stasis between life and death.

He finds a lone rusted blade and holds it in his hand. So familiar. So comforting.

He calls out, unable to form words. Hoping to hear someone call back.

Only the crackling of the earth and harsh heated wind answer his call.

He has no choice but to find shelter. There! The large coliseum!

He staggers to it, uncertain of his fate.

It feels so familiar to him as he reaches the gates and walks in. The hallways offer a dark shelter to him and he goes to it, unaware of someone following him.

He reaches the shadow and seemingly vanishes, even while someone was so close behind him.

The guard tries to listen for movement or some disturbance amongst the darkness.

The guard feels a hand cover his mouth and then a sharp pain. It is quick.

The Mark takes off the clothes of his latest victim and places it on himself.

The Mark: "This will do, for now."

He steps out of the darkness, hood over his head and a new dagger in his hand.

The Mark: "They're all gone."

A sickening grin crosses The Mark's face.

The Mark: "This is going to be... very... very... interesting."