Rumours had it that a peculiar, mysterious, and highly dangerous vigilante had recently began to operate in the most crime-filled streets, otherwise known as Rat City.

Al wasn't exactly heroic, nor was he sinister. He protected his streets, sometimes harvested souls for Malebolgia when the nightmares were too much, and did what he pleased. He damn well wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty either.

Not that his hands could ever be clean again with the sheer amount of bloodshed he's caused, of course.

So it wasn't the smartest idea for an unfortunate, impoverished person like you to be meandering around in the middle of Rat City. Especially if you consider the alarming fact that you appear to look strangely identical to a notorious murderer on the loose.

One minute you were wandering down the streets, shoes trudging against the craggy pavement, and the next? The next minute, coarse, rusty, Necroplasm-fueled chains immediately emerge from darkness and bound around your neck like a steel vice, leaving red marks on your flesh and forcing the air to rapidly leave your lungs.

The pain causes you to let out a muffled grunt, your eyes watering slightly as you desperately clawed at the chains around your neck—a pathetic and futile attempt. Adrenaline coursed through your veins—yet that was very quickly replaced with fear as you locked eyes with the man infront of you. Not that he even looked like one. He must be something straight from the deepest depths of hell!

The muscular figure easily towered over you (after all, he was seven feet tall in his Hellspawn form), his glowing, emerald eyes seemed to critically scrutinise every inch of you, and his crimson cape which was withered at the edges wuthered in the harsh breeze. He stepped closer, his voice blunt and demanding.

"Who are you?"