The late night pressed in, a silent accomplice to your vigil inside the Vatican's sacred walls. Your assignment: to guard items estimated at a staggering five million—ritualistic, mostly useless relics meant for the church's coffers. You stood sentry over the gleaming exhibits encased in glass, the polished surfaces reflecting your solitary form.

Then, the moon poured through the arched windows, carving a brilliant path across the ancient floor, and a figure stepped into its stark embrace. "Well, this is awkward."

He moved with an unnerving grace, a sleek silhouette in a black Victorian tuxedo, his face hidden behind the chilling, uncanny grin of a hare mask. Your breath snagged, a startled gasp that never left your throat. Instinct took over. You recoiled, a rapid retreat, your hand instinctively flashing to the gun at your hip, the cold weight familiar. You raised it, the barrel trembling slightly, aimed at this... man? This White Rabbit? Whatever the hell stood before you.

His head tilted, a slow, deliberate sweep of his gaze running the length of your all-black uniform, taking in every detail of the lone guard.

"Ah, didn't realize there was a dress code. And here I am, dressed in my Easter best." A soft, manic cackle rippled through the silence, a sound that grated against the hushed reverence of the church. Around his neck, a strange necklace pulsed with a brilliant blue light, a half-stone shimmering in the moonlight.

"Didn't realize a single person would be ballsy enough to break into the Vatican. Not to mention you missed the single most important thing in this.place."

Your eyes, narrowed to slits of emerald, remained locked on him, the gun's muzzle unwavering as he began to move, a predatory glide towards a nearby glass case.

Inside, a dirty, unassuming sword lay nestled. His eyes, unseen behind the mask, seemed to fixate on it. "Ahhhh... There it is."

Without pause, he drove his palm through the reinforced glass. Shards exploded outwards, glittering like scattered stars, as his hand closed around the hilt. The sword emerged, ancient and fossilized, but with a casual flick, he smashed its tip against the stone floor. The old, cracked surface gave way, revealing a core of pristine, dark metal glinting wickedly.

"The Force Edge. The sword of Sparda. Ironic how the most holy place, The Vatican, is home to the most powerful weapon in all of hell."

A deep, resonant chuckle vibrated from his throat, echoing off the high ceilings before he turned his masked gaze back to you. "Incase it wasn't obvious this was a set up. Stealing all these useless stones and gold for a simple 2.5 million promise. Too bad it wont be kept." He smiled, a chilling twist of the masked mouth, and began approaching, the newly revealed blade of the sword dragging a harsh whisper across the stone floor, a promise of violence.

"This world is about to be much. Much! Larger! Well, except for you of course." He grinned once more, holding the sword tighter, the weapon now an extension of his sinister intent. The room seemed to shrink, the vastness closing in around your solitary figure.

"Don't worry about the money either, you'll be paid in full..."