His blood ran in thin streams from the thousand shallow cuts that covered his body. The rivulets diverted of their own accord as they touched the brick floor, swirling and spreading into an intricate hexagram filled with fractal lines. “I do not concede,” he said with a voice that echoed against the subterranean walls. Despite the surely fatal blood loss, the man stood tall in the midst of his murderers.

“You would go so far to spite us?” their leader hissed behind his featureless Mask. “You would die a demon and go to the end that is promised our kind rather than face judgment as a human?”

The bleeding man smiled with what little fortitude he had remaining. “I left that behind a long time ago. I know what awaits me.” He closed his eyes. “You’ll never find her. That’s all the comfort I need.”

He died, and his blood scarred the stone deeply, and none of his assailants could touch the Mask that lay at the hexagram’s center. It vexed them greatly.