Beneath the obscurity of his hood, the figure known as Executioner widened his eyes, perched atop the cabin of his train. A thin sheathe of miasma licked at his frame, enveloping him in its embrace. It was scant consolation against the weight of the abyss, threatening to devour him, but it would do for now.


    “What moron wrecks an entire monorail!?” A large axe nearly half his size rested against his shoulder, drenching his cloak in liquid crimson. “Idiot did a sloppy job finishing off fellow rivals in a rush.” He shook his head disapprovingly.


    Within the periphery of his vision, his keen eyes caught sight of a splattered mass eroding a worn-out membranous extension, plastered against the end of the carriage. Drawn in by the eerie magnetism of the newfound disturbance, he tilted his head as he made his way towards the spectacle.


    He approached with his grip over his axe, taut as a tightened noose. His gaze crept over the hints of bloodred stains etched onto the splattered mess, tracing the contours of a humanoid visage.


    All of a sudden, a surge of miasma rippled and coalesced, melding the fleshy mass into the grotesque semblance of a male. A quick glance over the groin, confirmed his suspicion.


    His lips were upturned with fascination, his muscles tensed. “Are you part of the next trial, awaiting the Executioner’s touch?” he asked, cutting through the clamour of wheels on rails.


    The humanoid contour inched towards Executioner, as he sheathed his muscles and vessels over firmly woven skin. He wobbled sideways, barely holding onto the dagger in his hand.


    “Did you lose your clothes before your will, in the depths of the Abyzz? That damn tsar’s got a screw lose for using this hellhole for a trial.”


    “What’re you yammering on about?” asked the humanoid contour, running a hand through his ruffled plumes for hair atop an immaculate scalp.


    “That damned Zarovar and his poor taste in selecting his elite guard. Is your brain lagging in real time too? Damn vile dipshit.”


    “I’ve been train-hopping ever since I fucking got here, and the murkiness has put a damper on my mood. I could use a fresh set of clothes at least, before we have a go at each other.”


    Executioner sensed no immediate threat. He chose to lower his guard. In a fluid motion, he extended a tentacle off his back, which snaked about his feet, delving into the carriage beneath. He retrieved a lifeless body, its head severed from its shoulders and without hesitation, he flung the corpse towards the humanoid contour.


    A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he spoke with an air of casual indifference, hidden beneath a mask of excited fervour. “You have quite the interesting ability, Mr. Zombie.”


    *


    Azrael’s heart sank, hurtling through the abyss, engulfed by the formless murkiness threatening to consume him. An impending sense of doom loomed over him, casting a despair bound shadow.


    With trembling hands, he reached out, desperately grasping at the straws of hope, slipping through his fingers. There was nothing there, nothing anymore. His digits came to a standstill. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the whims of fate, weighing him down with whispers of sweet nothing. It was a spell that had cast the end of his journey into fruition, sung by a beseeching siren.


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    In his final moments, a familiar voice shattered the void. “You don’t get to join us so easily.” The words echoed with undeniable authority, cutting through the wretchedness threatening to engulf him.


    In that moment, his eyes widened. Before him stood figures from a different era. Granny, Briar, Stella, Mol’okh, the eyepatch demon and Juke –each bearing a gaze filled with a kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from compassion to resentment, brewing a conflict-laced whirlwind from the depths of his being.


    Amidst the chaos, he caught sight of a darkness –one that bore iridescent scales –devouring their very forms till the sight pried his eyes open, nearly off the sockets.


    “A grey existence is tantamount to death. I can’t slip into greyness, not right now. I’m weaving my own path, a tale which I need to see the end of, right here, right now.” Clenching the dagger in his left hand, he drove the blade through his right shoulder, tracing a clean arc across his torso, under his heart. Before his consciousness slipped, he positioned his body towards the train on the lower monorail, disappearing into the horizon. He left his right arm with one last command, as his vision went black: throw with all you’ve got!


    Pulling up his trousers over the last leg, Azrael firmly clasped the buckle tautly over his waist. At first, he could feel the weight of despair bite into his consciousness, but the moment Executioner had tossed him the corpse, his senses became sharpened.


    Picking up his dagger, he kept an eye on the hooded assassin. Despite his menacing aura and the grim axe, he shouldered, the redhead blinked in surprise at his hospitality.


    “Quite the gentleman, aren’t you? Almost brings a tear to my eye.”


    “I have time to spare. Everyone aboard my train was slain. I’m killing time till the next bit starts up.” Executioner rested his hands atop the base of his weapon’s shaft, the blade firmly planted between his feet. “Now that you’re whole again, do you see why Zarovar’s got poor taste in his choices?”


    “No, not really,” said Azrael, raising an eyebrow. “Why don’t you enlighten me.”


    Executioner shook his head. “This is why I can’t stand kids these days. Those Sins need to learn their lesson and tighten up their colanders. Otherwise, they’ll have a repeat of the same incident from a century ago.”


    “A century ago? Something happened back then?”


    “Back when your parents were still in their diapers, a legendary assassin who went by the alias Lilith, had slain the entire elite guard of the Sins by herself. Legend has it, she couldn’t leave the fate of the Succession in the hands of a bunch of dipshits, after surviving the previous one. Though I haven’t heard much about her since. I doubt the Sins would pardon something so heinous with nothing less than a death sentence.”


    “Lilith… she never mentioned any of it.” A notion began gnawing at Azrael. He realised he had never tried figuring his mentor out, it was always about being dragged into one calamitous absurdity after another. Clenching his fists, he had enough reason to hurry back to the stronghold. He decided to have a much-needed chat with her, starting with her real name.


    “You make it sound like you know her, somewhat of a surprise, since Zarovar sounded foreign.” Executioner scoffed, sweeping the axe over to his shoulder. “I can’t tell if you’re feigning ignorance or some sheltered, delusional brat. But one thing’s certain. My gut tells me, your skills as an assassin are the real deal.”


    In a seamless motion, Executioner dissolved the distance dividing them. In a lethal curve, his axe sliced the air, crosswise.


    Falling with gravity, Azrael dropped to the roof, his knees bending over till his torso slid under Executioner’s sweeping swing. Swiftly grabbing his dagger, he aimed for Executioner’s wrists.


    The hooded assassin deftly manoeuvred the shaft of his axe, deflecting his opponent’s dagger away from its intended target. Simultaneously, he channelled his miasma, summoning a girthy extension sheathed in slime and brandished its suckers. Out its orifice, a cloud of inky aerosol was expelled, engulfing the redhead in a shroud of darkness.


    Taking advantage of the obscured chaos, Executioner dug his feet into the murky surface of the roof, drawing in a breath to anchor himself. Extending his right leg upward, he positioned his heel for a decisive strike against his opponent.


    You’re mine!


    With a sudden searing pain, a bloodstained blade emerged out his foot, eliciting a guttural roar off his lips, fumbling his balance.


    The redhead emerged from the chaotic tumult with a torn-out eyeball. His bloodstained eye batting matted lashes confusedly, extruded from the orbit. Recovering in a blink, he threw himself at Executioner, wrapping his arms around the assassin’s waist and pinning him down on the carriage’s roof, their bodies intertwined in a desperate clash.


    “Damned brat.” Extending his tentacle over the edge of the train, he grasped the girdle and flung himself and the enemy over, into the murky abyss below.


    “Fuck. Not again,” groaned the redhead.