It was around midnight in Crossroads when Ghostwalker was strolling around the city streets, dragging his sword across the ground, leaving behind trails of white flame that dissipated quickly. Ghostwalker's halo illuminated his facial features slightly, but not by so much.

He wiped his bloodied glove against his plaid vest, before snapping back to reality and realizing it would stain. ".. How lovely," He hissed in annoyance to himself, before spotting a figure in the distance. "... Eh?"

The figure in question -- was you.