Excalibur Tower, Gothic City
Gothic City was cursed. Cursed by a hunger that pulled at all the good in it's people. A hunger that made it America's worst city. A city where schoolchildren were taught to hide under their desks, where civilians took refuge underground when the light of an explosion flares across the sky. Gothic however, was cursed no more - or so the Horned Saint believed. The Purge'd cast so thick a fear of damnation in the air that no thief dared pick an innocent's pockets. For now, Gothic City was quiet. And in his return to the city, Kellan wondered how he'd feel had he not lost his soul.
And if flayed flesh still hung from flagpoles and street lamps.
Still, he felt something. And it compelled him to seek out the one person who mattered; Richard. His brother. Gripped by silence, the air hung still as if lying in wait for the shadows to move. And move they did as the Kellan climbed out the dark feet of a corner, clad in neither red nor black, but in a smile more alien than man. Draped in a trench-coat, he strode forward, his footsteps soundless and his eyes behind the red lenses of glasses he didn't need. His smile, calm yet unfamiliar, held as his dermal senses swept the building for Richard. Two floors above, he thought, seconds before stepping out a shadow in Richard's office.
Meeting eyes with his brother now, Kellan's heart should be clamoring in his chest. Yet it held cool, as though the hulk of a man behind the ebony desk meant nothing to him. "Richard", the Horned Saint greeted, voice flowing deep and with something it'd been lacking - feeling. "You and I are due this conversation".
"Don't worry. I'm not here to eat your soul", his smile twitched, his humor still dark.