talk to me, sibyl. tell me what you see.
all my sins remembered.
lounging on a couch a few dozen yards away, watching the women on four video monitors, detached and twice removed from the sex play.
illuminate me.
monkey i could care less about. what about our merchandise?
because she speaks the truth.
what's this, curve? a beauty mark?
the crow. death's avatar. i've heard the legends.
looks down at a view of the seething landscape.
let him come, then.
i thought you killed him.
so how do you stop a man who's already dead?
you tell me.
so the crow is ashe's familiar.
everything, you idiot! find her. if she gave you his mark, then she's connected to him in some way. she can lead us to him.
fate happened to her.
emerges from the gloom, almost as if he were materializing from the shadows themselves.
sibyl's been cursed with the gift of prophecy. she sees things that are fated to happen.
but that only made the visions stronger, didn't it, dear?
don't we all.
my reputation precedes me.
i'm glad you asked that, sarah. you've got a very important part to play in this little drama of ours. you see, i intend to capture the crow.
 and you, my dear, are the birdseed.
have you ever read dante's inferno? it says that the only true path through hell lies at its center. if you want to escape it -- you have to go further in.
when i was a boy i fell through the ice of a lake. i remember seeing the sky through the ice above me, close enough to touch. the world grew cold around me. dark. eventually my heart stopped beating. and in that moment, i died.
a half-hour later i awoke on an operating table. i had returned to the world of flesh and bone -- but i brought a knowledge back with me.
i've been living on borrowed time ever since. i've always known death would be coming for me.
you're wrong, sarah.
look who's come home to roost.
sets a package wrapped in velvet on the camera table. he peels back the cloth, revealing a set of ornately decorated, tapered daggers. he looks back at sarah.
do you know what these are called? misericords. wonderful name, isn't it?
easy, little wing. it will all be over soon.
not for long.
it's done.
scoops up a handful of the crow's blood and brings it to his lips.
standing just a few yards away, emerging from the doorway of his tower. he got the anti-crow blood mask on his face. his eyes are glowing like twin stars and his lips are curled back in a feral snarl. in his hands, he holds one of the chains from his campanile.
tell me, ashe. do you every get the feeling we're all just dead men on leave?
in the flesh.
i'm your shadow, ashe. every angel's got a devil. didn't you know that? or maybe you just slept your way through sunday school?
i've tasted the blood of the crow and taken your power.
you're flesh and blood now, ashe. you can die like any other man.
already been there. and i must confess, i liked what i saw.
looks like the dead have forsaken you, my friend.
look at you, bleeding like a stuck pig. where's your precious strength? where's your power?
shouts to the crowds below, his eyes on fire.
you want death?! here he is, people!!! take a good look!!!
now don't we look pretty.
nice. if you prick him, does he not bleed?
you can't stop me anymore, ashe. you don't have the power.
no!!!
lets loose a death-shriek that all but splits the sky as the myriad beaks and talons rend him limb from limb.