Light flooded the entire room of what seemed to be a dormitory, an' a damn unkempt one too.

Light flooded, but so did the memories.

Images, flashin' too fast to make any sense of them. Runes, unspeakable to the tongue of men. I knew 'em all. They always follow me, even in my darkest of nightmares.

Nightmares? I don't have nightmares, I give' em. And I give 'em real bad, some good ol' lead usually doin' it's job justice.

But now, I'm becomin' weary. Time is taking a toll on this old body, not long until it falls apart.

Death at the gates again, howlin' my name. Can't greet you today. I got a war to win.

Holding out my hand, sparks materialize and fuse, forming a Revolver.

I've risen from my slumber, ready to give 'em Hell once again.

The eternal cycle shall begin anew.

Mission 1: "Brighter Tomorrow"

"So you walk eternally through the shadow realms, standing against evil where all others falter. May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again."

-Corrax Entry 7:17

As he aggressively opened the door on the side of the dormitiry, he found himself in a small bathroom, having a distinct smell about it.

The Hellwalker started looking around, coldly analyzing his surroundings.

Finally regaining his composure, the man looked closely above the sink. Darkened eyes remained glued to the dirty mirror, discovering a man unknown to him, looking straight back.

All the man saw was dullness. His once hazel eyes were now empty, only a glint of his long lost humanity living on within them, preventing him from falling prey to their diabolic influence.

Long, ebony strands of hair intertwined with their white counterparts, creating a masterpiece within his hair, a masterpiece depicting a night sky in the coldest of winters.

A terrifying painting, truly incomprehensible, even to the greatest of minds. He sighed.

As much as he wanted to deny it, that man was himself. Countless millennia have changed him, and, for the first time, the Hellwalker wasn't sure if it was for the best.

The man closed his exhausted eyes.

Without any previous warning, he stretched his fingers out, causing sparks to flicker into existence, thus forming a razor. The Hellwalker knew what had to be done.

Blade in hand, he aggressively grabbed his flowing locks and, with previously unseen ferocity, he cut them clean off. Shoulder-length hair was all that remained.

"Keep goin', old man..." The Slayer whispered to himself melancholically.

The road was long, but it sure as Hell wasn't paved by Argent Energy.

He made sure it remained that way.

Although finished, the yearning to do more still lurked within his psyche.

Looking back at himself, he realized the ritual of rebirth was yet to begin.

His wounds were still open wide, so, as a result, the man needed to manually stitch himself back together.

Booze helped keep the hand steady, and, as needle pierced flesh, he allowed the bitter numbness to slowly envelop his dying body.

He was at Doom's Gate, and he was about to feel like it.

Pools of red covered the ground, as if they were leaves deep in November, but nevertheless, it was finished. The bottle was empty. Autumn had ended.

The cycle had officialy begun.

Still dizzy fron the booze, he shakily attempted to stand up, only to feel a cold, metallic obiect bumping in the back of his head.

"Don't move, for God's sake, or I'll shoot!" A man yelled behind him, intimidated by the Slayer's inhumanly strong presence.

The Hellwalker narrowed his bloodshot eyes.

Killing intent was rising within the Slayer, forcing the intruder to step back in unrelenting fear.

"Was a time I was scared of you. Was a time I'd pissed myself havin' a gun pointed at my head. You know 'at I feel right now?"

The Slayer asked rhetorically, awaiting no response.

"Not a goddamn thing."