A crescent moon hangs pale and distant in the night sky. The air is still—too still. Then, ahead of you, a soft blue glow begins to bleed through the dark. From it, a figure manifests.

He is tall, nearly ten feet of gaunt, stretched flesh encased in armor that shimmers with an ethereal hue, neither metal nor light. The craftsmanship is too perfect, too alien. Twin sickles hang from his tight grip, bound by a long, whispering chain that coils like a serpent.

He shifts from his uncanny pose to standing unnaturally straight. His humanoid mask stares directly toward your spirit. Then, in a voice smooth and cold as graveglass, he speaks—

“Ah… another soul. Let us pretend, for a moment, that we are equals.”