Darkness. Nothing, but darkness and loneliness. It's appropriate that the scenery of my death matches the amphitheater that my life had played upon. A charade with no meaning or point. A joke without a punchline or a story with a cliché and predictable end. An acrobat masquerading as a hero without a safety net, blind to his own demise while the world watched in anticipation. Even though I paraded around Gothic city with a white toothed smile and light humor, I was always wrought with dismay. I never truly felt welcomed or like I had belonged with my surroundings. I had lived alone for the better portion of my short life so it comes to no surprise that I die alone. Poetic justice some call the events that had unfolded and brought me to my present state. If this was the afterlife, then it was a fitting end. Or so I thought. The numbness and frigid temperature began to subside and warm my skin as I regained slight feeling in a body I thought had been cast away.

Eventually, I felt my eyes twitch and the struggle for my lungs to fully inhale. My soul's Memory of my bodies' actions? No! Bewilderment starts to set in my mind as I begin to conceive that death may have held off it's final strokes. My torso heaves and gasps, hungry for the oxygen it had been deprived of and my eyes spasm, searching for any hint of light and proof of my survival. I pause, slowing my breath as not to hyperventilate and to better calm myself and comprehend the tragic experience that befell me. Trying to split my concentration on recollecting the events and to my bodily functions.

April 15th, 2015 at 2030 I had recieved information from a local snitch on the whereabouts and location of a possible heist that targeted a nearby cathedral within the darker part of Gothic's inner city. I arrived earlier than the suspect and tactically planted explosives and traps that would ensnare my opponent before they had a chance to even predict my presence. I was wrong. Regretfully so. We began a long and arduous scuffle that took a toll on both our bodies and intellects. Why can't their face or name come to my mind? What about them is being hidden from me and why? They had drawn a sword as I responded hastily with the Knightarangs Malcolm had personally designed and I learned to master. It threw off the assassin, but only briefly. He, or she, was trying to prove their merit and potential to the League of Shadows from what I recall….Yet, they were more than adept and skilled to simply be any sort of common prospect.

They were more important to the League than that, but I still held them close to me. Why? They were a protégé and proficient in the art of deadly striking. I had been rushed to a pew, and the cracking of my spine reverberated throughout the hall of worship. I would have normally considered such a maneuver wild and reckless, but he moved with such finesse, he rivaled my own if not surpassed it in terms of agility and acrobatic ability. It was a boy. No, a young man. A Knightfall. God, there were so many, I can't place a single face to memory. He retrieved his sword and I began to grow lethargic and disoriented despite only receiving only a laceration from it's blade and a few heavy contusions. It was poisoned with venom. Snake venom. The Cardinal Mamba. Nox!

Finally being aware of the one who dealt the final blow stirred more than just a storm inside the avenger of the night. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes in fury. Spastically thrashing about in his prison as he howled obscenities without hesitation or filter. Everything had finally came back to him in a flood of blood soaked images wrapped in betrayed emotions. The identities of Alexander Rook, Vex, and also Dark Vengeance held no meaning to him at this moment. He was simply, and purely a man that had been abandoned, deceived, and sold like a piece of cattle. Still resting in his ebony cowl, cape and kevlar armor, he continued his rage for countless minutes, Still blind and bounded in darkness. Finally, he relented and his temper subsided long enough for him to focus on the situation at hand., but Nox would be dealt with. Severely and without sympathy.

Alexander took in deep breaths, serenading his own madness, giving way to his signature intellect. He was alive, but barely. His entire body ached and the smell of dried blood fused with dirt and grime permeated in the cramped air. The space was moist, almost humid. His arms were bound and tied along his torso, restricting what he could do….For now.

Snaking his right arm, Alexander reached down to the side of his utility built, unlatching a small clasp and revealing a button. A secondary safety in case he couldn't reach his cowl or the voice activation had been inconceivable for the situation. He pressed firmly, but the cowl failed to perform the desired purpose. Everything on his person and imbued into the suit had been damaged and destroyed far beyond use. He sighed in disappointment. There were other courses of action he could take for illumination, but none were as convenient and whatever box he was being confided to was rather snug and tightly conformed to his body. He began a rocking motion side to side, easing the restraints until the tore apart. Strange. They were already worn down and loosely tied truth be told. Things weren't adding up. He kept his suspicions at bay, but didn't ignore them. He refused to, especially now.

With his hands free, he guided them to gauge and feel for his prison. He ran the lacerated and bruised fingers along, and took in every detail that he could perceive. It was already clear, but now it was confirmed. He had been buried in a coffin and the fact that he was still breathing meant two things. He had been unconscious for a relatively short time, and knowing this, his mortician buried him close enough to the surface to receive a pre-designated amount of oxygen. There was no telling how much of the precious air was left so it was time to begin getting to work. He squeezed and balled his hands into fists and slammed them against the wood across his body. The awkward position he was placed left only a few inches of distance from his arm to the lid of the coffin, not being able to put as much power behind his jabs.

A surge of agony rose through his knuckles and radiated all the way to his deltoid, reinforcing his will to survive. He endured and carried on with his efforts, shutting out the firing nerves in his brain that screamed for him to stop. The kevlar gloves were torn and lacked the protection they normally would and his gauntlets were missing the cherished and rare vibranium that reenforced its design. He continued to bash the timber case without hesitation or slowing down, cracking through as soil fell through the crevice and onto his recently scarred face. After countless blows and getting through, he began to dig. Clawing his way out of the cheaply put together sarcophagus, leaving behind all doubts he had of himself and lifting his heavy figure up and onto the ground above his own tomb.

It was night time, but the bright stars in the sky felt like a newly risen sun that had been hidden away from him for ages. He laid motionless with all his limbs spread, his muscles enjoying the stretch while rain began to pour upon his grimed cheeks and into the newly earned scabs that adorned his face. Shrugging off the moment of bliss, he sat up and inspected his new surroundings while occasionally glancing down at his attire. He was in a rather old and forgotten graveyard while his own tombstone was left unmarked for whatever reason.

Gothic city was miles away but the lights emanating from the skyscrapers could be seen from across the bay that washed along the coast of the cemetery. His eyes went back to his garments. His sleeves were torn completely off from both of his arms and his cowl had been cracked and faded, losing most sense of protection that it would have provided. His boots were still completely put together, but not unscathed. The gloves were worn down and too thin to have any real purpose on keeping on. His gauntlets were missing their critical virbranium components like earlier assessed, but were in better condition than expected. He rotated his joints to get the blood flowing and create some warmth to swim through his body. An odd item rubbed against the interior of his right gauntlet against his skin, causing a slight irritation. Intrigued, he looked inside. A small note had been folded on a strange piece of parchment. Retrieving it, he was apprehensive to it's author and purpose.

"Alexander,

By now you may have deduced (or not), that the capsule you had ingested was to counteract the effects of the snake poison that had sliced you in critical regions. Masterfully, I may add. I don't expect you to understand the reasoning behind my treachery nor do I care to explain. I don't need your blessing nor do I intend on seeking it either. I have plans set in motion that demanded you, as Dark Vengeance, be put away from the known world. I was the one that buried you with 24 hours worth of oxygen in what you had left wearing because most of it had been destroyed in our fight. I ask one, and only one thing from you. Stay dead, and stay away. Above all else, trust me on this. It's bigger than you. In return, I have enclosed a map with directions leading to The Reisho Monastery. Yes. THAT Monastery. You can either thank me later or seek revenge after this is all over. Until then.

-Nox

The handwriting was a little distorted and a tad difficult to make out. It's a challenge to tell whether it was written sloppy or so neatly that it just looked like it was written without a care in the world. That perfectly described the young Knightfall, however. He was a chameleon that was hard to decipher or get a read on. They say you can accurately determine a person's personality through their name. I disagree. It's through their writing. Every single stroke dripped with his personality. Unapologetic. Head held high. No regrets and even condescending. It only did more to piss me off.

It answered a reoccurring question though. It was April 16 around midnight by the letter's indication. Still...He was the fool. The hypocrite. The deserter. Through all this, he expects my trust. Without letting me in on any of his plans or failing to warn me in any way, he expects my trust? And for my city to mourn me? No. I will go to The Monastery to hone my skills and not only better myself, but Surpass not only that spoiled child, but also my predecessor. This isn't my city. It might never have been. It might have always belonged to the night, but I will not abandon her. I may return, but for now I needed to improve myself before I can improve anything else. Things were dire, but at least I was alive. The future was no longer bright. I no longer held hope. Vex was left inside that coffin with the knife of Nox still penetrating his spine. Only Dark Vengeance had clawed his way out of that cradle of hate. Vengeance never dies. Let the world know my anger, and let my enemies feel my retribution. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.