Reaper awoke, the feel of Amanda's throat still on his hands. The dream stuck in the forefront of his mind as he pulled himself from his throne. He brushed at his white hair with a feeling of disdain, then grabbed his long coat from the throne's arm. He slipped it on over his black torso piece, then began to move toward the door. Before he had made it halfway across the hall, however, he dropped to his knees as pain shot through every inch of his body.
     He groaned, writhing oddly and trying to prevent himself from screaming.
     "What is this?!" he roared, looking down at his hands, which had balled into fists.
     As he watched, thin crimson lines, like veins of blood, began to spider across the backs of his hands. He glanced at a nearby mirror and saw that similar lines had appeared on his face. The lines felt like fire, and finally he could hold back no more. He screamed in terrible agony, his vision fading and wavering between the cement floor and pitch darkness.
     His body became heavy and he fell forward on his face, writhing madly and attempting to force the pain away to no avail. His vision blanked out completely, and he noticed he could no longer hear his screaming voice. The world was pain, and he didn't know why.
     "Reaper! My successor! Calm yourself!" he heard a voice roar.
     The pain ceased instantly, and Reaper pushed himself heavily to his knees. His vision returned slowly, and he blinked to erase the blurriness that clouded his mind.
     "Can you hear me?" the voice asked.
     Reaper turned his head toward the exit of the throne chamber and nearly passed out. A man stood in the doorway, his shoulder-length navy blue hair unkempt and ratted. He stared at Reaper with cold silver eyes, a look of disdain on his battle-worn and stubbled face. He was muscular, but strangely diminished, as though he had been starved for long periods of time. He wore a long tattered black robe, and a thin shortsword was in his hand.
     "Kain...? It can't be...!" Reaper gasped, standing up shakily.
     "Just a little while since you've claimed leadership of the Lower Sect, and you've already forgotten me?" Kain replied, his voice scratchy and dangerous.
     "No... it's just that... the Succession Ceremony kills you, doesn't it?"
     "Of course it does," Kain spat, "What you are seeing is a projection of me, caused by the Lines of Fate. I have left this imprint here, to explain what the Lines are, so keep quiet and listen."
     Kain approached Reaper and grabbed his arm with his free hand.
     "The Lines of Fate are a curse that plaques all those in the Lower Sect that arises under a certain condition. Should you be slain on the Mortal Plane by one that you are destined to protect, upon your return to the Lower Sect, crimson lines shall sprawl across your body and imprint upon your clothing. Take a look in the mirror, boy."
     Reaper turned to look in the mirror, and saw that the lines that had started on his body had wound themselves onto his clothes like spiderwebs.
     "One I am destined to protect?" Reaper said, "But I was killed by my brother's wife! Surely I am meant to kill her!"
     "The Lines serve one purpose: to kill the one whom they scar," Kain continued as though he hadn't heard Reaper, "If you fail to protect the one who slayed you, the Lines will turn white and burn back into your skin, severing your veins and ending your life. Essentially, your internal structure will be liquified."
     Reaper balled his hands and wrenched his arm from Kain's grip.
     "Why? Why do we suffer from this?"
     "I do not know, Reaper, but it is a fate that we leaders always suffer. But, do not despair. You can rid yourself of the curse," Kain said.
     "What is it?" Reaper said, his eyes wide.
     "You must simply save that person's life one time," Kain replied, "Once you do that, the Lines will vanish, and you will be free of the curse."
     Kain shook his head, as though trying to clear it, and stumbled backward. Reaper moved to catch him, but Kain fell through his arms like air.
     "That's all I needed to say. Protect that girl who slayed you, save her one time, and you will be free. If she dies before that... so will you..."
     Kain vanished into nothingness, and Reaper stood, his arms still out.
     "I... I am destined to save her?! Why? I'm the one trying to kill her, in order to spark war with Johnnie and Siniris and bring ruin to the Upper Sect. That's what the prophecy states... isn't it? Isn't it?!" Reaper roared in frustration.
     He hoped that Kain might reappear to answer, but to his annoyance, nothing was heard but his faint echo.
     "I refuse to accept this!" he screamed, rushing to the door and pressing a button next to it.
     "Yes?" a sweet female voice said, her voice filling the room.
     "Crystal, bring me all documents referring to the final Prophecy of War, and anything you can find on a phenomenon known as the Lines of Fate! Quickly!" Reaper bellowed.
     "I'll run them down to you as soon as I gather them, sir!" Crystal said.
     That done, Reaper walked back over to the throne and sat down, mashing his forehead with his fists. He tried to take in what Kain had told him, but it made no sense. Why would he be destined to protect Amanda?
     With no answer readily available, Reaper straightened up, awaiting Crystal and the documents.