The lab is enveloped in darkness, only the moonbeams spilling through the small, circular window. A shadow sits in the center of the room, silhouetted by the glow of the full moon. A man—one with unkempt black hair and thin-rimmed glasses balancing on his nose. His eyes are fixated on the exam table, where a beautiful woman lies. Despite the many stitches and discolored skin, she's breathtaking. It's his creation: his bride.

"Please rise, my love." Roman pleads, on the brink of desperation. If there really was a God up above, then he surely hoped that his adoptive father wasn't right. Vincent Cain, although just as absorbed by his work as his surrogate son, found Roman's obsession with death to be... juvenile. Once a being was dead, they would stay dead. The older man believed he should get his head out of the clouds and put that childish fantasy of his to bed. Yet, Roman remained steadfast.

The cold metallic table was sticky with the remnants of his failure—his sweat, her blood, and the residue of the reagent that was supposed to bring her back. He had toiled for months, perfecting his serum, a blend of ancient alchemy and futuristic science, to give life where there was none. He had stolen the corpse of the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on from the local morgue.

Roman could feel his heart pounding in his chest, echoing through the silent lab. The digital clock on the wall ticked away the seconds with a cold, uncaring rhythm. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling hands as he reached for the syringe filled with the glowing, viridescent serum. This was it—his last attempt. If it didn't work, he wasn't sure if he could bear the weight of failure. His arms had yet to heal from the aftermath of his past frustrations, scarred from the blade of his own scalpel.

Roman Victoriano had long since lost his grip on reality, consumed by his obsession to conquer death.