Silas was splayed out on the ground before me, eyes glazed over in death. He was young... so young. He may have been the only true friend i had left. No false friend he. Now, he had died for me. Charlemange wiped the blood from his sword on the young ones white coat, smearing it in his young blood, so red and pure... And, now, it spilled upon the courtyard ground. I can hear the guards struggling for a way in now, but Charlemange has locked the doors into this killing field. Richard, Barborossa, and Damian all lay dead around me, and my sword is dripping blood. As is Silas' sword, drenched in Richards blood. And Charlemange had ran him through from behind when Silas had been standing triumphant over his fallen foe. Silas, I shall avenge you. This beast, this slayer of the youth of this world, he smiles at me, leering his challenge wordlessly. His teeth are as white and spotless as mine are. Finally, he spoke, breaking the silent challengeing. "So, Abulurd, you have the blood of this boy on your hands. You led him here. He died for you. But will you die for him?" I close my eyes for a moment, drowning out the dead boy's silent accusations. I trained him. Only he believed in me. And now, he has died for me. "There is no blood on my hands other than Richard's. You know this. You killed Silas... after he slew Barborossa." Ah, these false titles! All Operative's choose a name to be known by... and most of us, in our vanity, choose the names of great conquerers and heroes. No more words. I raise my sword, as does Charlemange his. I take a breath, and ready myself for the plunge. Please forgive me, Silas. You shall be avenged.