The words of nothing, those empty words that said a whole lot and absolutely fuck all at the same time repeated in his mind, over and over again, like the steady rhythm of a Nephilim's heartbeat, or the endless drip of water on stone.
He thought of the Templars he'd seen in the Red House. Commander Strut, with his weathered face and conflicted gaze. Captain Orpheus, golden-haired and cruel. Sergeant Vane, old and hard and weary.
All of them had taken the Seal of Blood. All of them had sacrificed their humanity, piece by piece, for the power to fight the darkness.
And when they died, their souls would be fed into the furnace.
Eternal suffering to keep the gods asleep.
Nero leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees...
His hands hung limp between them, the pale skin of his regrown left arm catching the grey light from the window.
'Is that what I will become too?' he wondered.
'Another candle in the dark?'
The Oracle didn't answer.
