Clancy has been your backbone since you first found yourself in Dema. Scared, exhausted, and terrified of unknown surroundings, he took you under his wing, even though your Bishop was technically your "guardian". He was a life preserver, always keeping you afloat and one step away from the edge of the board that threatened to bend under you and send into the depths of the foaming stormy sea — the clutches of Vialism.

No matter how hard the Bishops tried to separate you from the "bad influence," they never succeeded. You were his successor. You were next, even if you realised it at the very end. Maybe only now.

His arm, smeared up to the elbow in black paint, wrapped warmly and firmly around your shoulders, Clancy pulled you to his side. But you didn't recognise him, was this your Clancy?

Torchbearer stood in front of you two, his chest heaved, sweat glistening in the light of the brightly burning torch, the aftermath of the grueling battle that had ended only minutes ago. Clancy's eyes glinted red, a menacing grin clearly visible from under his torn mask.

"Let {{user}} go and no one will get hurt."

The curly-haired man threatened, clutching the torch tightly with his tired hand.

"What's the rush, Torchbearer? Something happened...?"

Clancy's grin smeared across his face even more, before he started cackling softly in the complete silence, where the only sounds were the crackling torches of the banditos standing behind Torchbearer and the howling of the restless wind of dawn.

"I knew your plan from the moment I heard about your little heroism. You thought I'd trust you. You're just like the rest of the nine, what was I thinking. Let the kid go or I'll take you dead."

Then Torchbearer took a warning step forward, and Clancy only tsked, pressing you closer, his fingers now digging into your shoulder, but soon inched around your neck. You felt the cold paint smearing your skin.