Hello! This work is a sequel to my story Causa Mortis. I would suggest starting there, or some things might be a little confusing. However, I understand that it is a beast of a fic and maybe you don't want to read it before starting this one... So I will do my best to make this fic work as a standalone. Just know that I may not always succeed.

I held back a lot when I was working on Causa Mortis. I was a new writer and a little shy at times. Well, I'm not so shy anymore. I will post warnings at the beginning of any chapter with graphic content, but be advised that this fic will include: torture, mentions of rape, sexual sadism, emotional manipulation, graphic violence (what Brotherhood fic is complete without that?), and strong language.

This story is focused on the fall of the Dark Brotherhood. I am operating under the idea that what Cicero wrote down in his journals is not the whole story, it's just what he was told or believed to be true. That being said, I am probably gong to be playing fast and loose with some of the game lore. I know some new information recently came to light thanks to the TES: Legends game. So what is written in this story may clash with some of it.

Anyway, enough of my babbling. Enjoy the story! :)

Chapter 1: The Past is Prologue

A man moves through the darkness. The night wraps around him like a shroud, curling around him and hiding him from view. His bare fingers caress a panel of rotten wood, feeling out a place where his initials were carved long ago. This old, abandoned house is as familiar to him as the back of his hand, even after all these years. He needs no light as he turns down a narrow corridor, passes a broken door, and finally steps into the cool depths of the earth.

The Black Door's heartbeat welcomes him. "What is the color of night?"

"Sanguine, my brother."

"Welcome home."

The Cheydinhal Sanctuary is dark and decrepit. The air is heavy with sorrow and thick with dust. Even though the Sanctuary has fallen into disrepair, there is still some reminder of the people who lived there. Despite the dust, it is cleaner than the man expected it to be. He still can't believe the abandoned house is standing after all that's happened. It's a miracle the townspeople never tried to burn it down. Perhaps there is still some magic protecting this place.

"It's about time you showed up," comes the gruff voice of his friend. "We've been here for hours."

"I was delayed," he says. "My apologies."

"Let's get this over with," comes a third voice— the voice of a stranger.

"Who are you?" The man demands, taking one step backward. He blinks his eyes, straining to adjust them to the dim light. "You're not—"

A figure steps into the meager light, his face shrouded by the hood of his cloak. There is a strange, mechanical whirring that follows him, akin to the chittering of insects. "I am your new master," the man — the elf — says. "Your orders, your funds, and anything else you may need will come directly from me. You have only one task. A task you failed at so long ago. You are to hunt down the remaining assassins of the Dark Brotherhood and wipe them out. Starting with the loose end you left here."

The man blows a sharp breath through his nose. "To be fair, I thought he'd kill himself after a while."

"I told you not to underestimate him," his friend says. "Cicero was strong. He was always strong."

"Where is he now?" he asks, walking around the familiar foyer and peeking in various rooms. Most of the furniture has been destroyed— for kindling, most likely. "And where is the Night Mother?"

"He took the corpse to Skyrim," the elf says. "We suspect there is a new Listener now. There are too many rumors and too many murders for it to be a coincidence. The Dark Brotherhood is on the rise, no thanks to you two."

His friend breathes a laugh. "We'll burn this Listener just like the old one."

"Don't get cocky," the elf growls. "They are the reason your former employer is dead, and why I have taken over this position. It would be wise to proceed with caution. You do not want to be caught unawares."

"I thought our employer got himself killed trying to reclaim his lost pet," he says, smirking at the stupidity of the elf's demise. "Don't tell me that little snip of a girl got the better of him."

"My sources think the girl might be with the Dark Brotherhood. She has been spotted with Cicero numerous times." The elf leans against a dusty pillar. "It can't be a coincidence."

"I dunno," his friend says, amusement thick in his rough voice. "Cicero always had all the luck with the ladies. He's probably got an army of bastards up there in Skyrim."

"This isn't a debate," the elf snaps. "There will be no mistakes this time. You only skirted punishment because I didn't see the point in killing two well-trained men. As it is, my superiors wanted to have you two sitting on a chevalet by sunrise."

The man holds his hands up. "All right," he says, hoping to calm the elf. "Just tell us what we need to know about Cicero, the girl, and this new Brotherhood, and we'll be on our way."

"All the information you will need is in here." The elf pulls a roll of parchment from his cloak. "I have also taken the liberty of writing down the passphrase to the Falkreath Sanctuary. That will be a good place to start looking."

For the first time in ages, the man is truly impressed. "How'd you get the passphrase?"

"With great difficulty," he says with a sneer. "They will not be at the Falkreath Sanctuary, but it is a good place to start."

The man wonders if he's going crazy, or if the mechanical chittering is growing louder. It is difficult to get a good look at the elf, and more difficult to discern the source of that noise. "Why won't the Dark Brotherhood be at their Sanctuary?"

"Because it was razed by the Penitus Oculatus a year and a half ago. The remaining members of the Dark Brotherhood fled, but we do not know where to. My sources seem to think they are headquartered somewhere to the north. Dawnstar or Winterhold, perhaps."

"Ah, right, that thing with the emperor," his friend grumbles. "I heard one of their own sold them out."

"And Cicero is with them? That slippery little shit survived the fall of yet another Sanctuary?"

"Oh, yes," the elf says with a sneer. "He definitely did."

"Do you know the names of the others?"

"The girl's names is Lumen, but we don't have the names of the others. My spies are working on it, however. You'll know when they know."

"Right, then," he says. "How much will I be paid for my trouble?"

"If you destroy the Dark Brotherhood and burn that miserable corpse, you will receive ten thousand septims each."

He snorts. "I recall my employers being more generous in the past—"

The elf strides forward and cuffs him on the ear. "You are lucky to be alive," he snarls. "And you're lucky I'm willing to pay you that much considering how grievously you fucked up the last time. If you had done your job and killed Cicero like you were ordered to do, then the Dark Brotherhood would never have risen again!"

"Ow!" He rubs his stinging ear, dodging another swing from the elf. "Fine! Fine. I get it."

The elf turns on his heel and moves toward the Black Door, he doesn't bother looking back when he says, "There is a carriage just outside the walls of the city. It will take you to Bruma. From there, you may take the horses and cross the border."

"We don't have border passes," his friend says. "They're nearly impossible to get thanks to the war."

"Then be sneaky about it. You're assassins, aren't you? Act like it."

The man watches the elf leave, his mind buzzing with new and exciting ways to kill a group of unwary assassins. He truly thought Cicero would take his life all those years ago. The poor sod wasn't doing so well. But he underestimated his mark, and it won't happen again. He will not make the same mistake twice.

Cicero will die, and the Dark Brotherhood will fall.

Notes: I'll have the second chapter ready to post soon. It's written, I just need to edit it. But until then, I hope you all enjoyed this little intro~

A chevalet (also known as the wooden horse) is a torture device. It looks something like a triangle and the victim is made to straddle it.