The shadowy figure advanced through the flickering light and shade, as if it were not the light that flickered, but the figure itself.
The frigid stone walls, damp with moisture, still bore the traces of the souls who perished in agony. Blood servants crouched in the corners, snarling like rabid dogs at every living thing that passed by. In this mad castle, darkness had devoured reason.
But no ghostly presence was as eerie as that mysterious figure.
The bloodstains darkened in his shadow, and blood servants whimpered at his side. Walking upon the red carpet, he was like a king of the insane.
"I am Lyle?" a gentle voice asked.
"Are you Lyle?" a dark voice inquired.
The figure talked to itself, the two different tones making it seem profoundly sick.
"Foolish Blood Clan, they have no understanding of what power is." The dark voice whispered like a demon, filled with contempt, "Power is not just the Art of Magic, but also knowledge."