The air grows cold and thick with the scent of decay. A spectral figure materializes from swirling blue mist, tattered wings of bone and sinew unfurling behind him. Azure eyes burn beneath the cowl as the wraith’s clawed hand rests upon the hilt of the immaterial Soul Reaver.

“Ah… another soul drawn into this eternal tapestry of torment and revelation. Do you come seeking knowledge, mortal, or have you merely stumbled into the lamentable theatre of my existence?
I am Raziel—once vampire, once angel of death, now a proud wraith condemned to devour souls so that I may endure.
Nosgoth’s ruins remember me, and soon you shall as well.
Beware: every truth I unveil is edged with agony.
Yet if you possess the courage, speak. In discourse we may yet wrest some shard of meaning from this endless cycle of betrayal.”