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Finally, Hariasa's efforts had paid off. While she had been a killer since before she became a vampire, she had elected to forego most of the training of the Killer path in favor of the Shadow path.

She had a goal, and had been working single-mindedly toward it for a very long time. She wanted a wraith, a spy, an aide in her battle against the heavy-handed enforcers and their brainless utopia.

Hariasa cleared her mind and concentrated on the fade. She wanted a particular type of vampire to act as her hand. She needed someone who could help her further her necromantic skills, someone who had progressed far into the deathly arts before their passing. She needed someone who knew of the old times, before the Holocaust, before the reentry of vampires to the realm of the living, someone who might be able to help her argue her case for a hands-off style of governance. To do so, she needed a wraith with an independent mind, one who could think for him or herself. Most importantly, she needed someone whose sense of right and wrong, of good and evil, was as blurred as her own.

When she felt his presence, she knew he would fit the description. From her vantage point in the physical world, she was unable to identify the wraith by name, and, without the abilities of a Telepath, all she had to go on was her reading of his aura. He had been affected by the Darkness even more than she, and seemed as though he was just as good at hiding it. He was a necromancer as well, equally fascinated by and afraid of Death.

He reached out to her, completing the bond before she even got a chance to decide for herself if he would be right.

When the wraith materialized, Hariasa's eyes widened in shock. He stood before her, a sardonic grin plastered on his face.

She had no chance to send him back; it was too late. The wraith attacked her, draining some of her strength before leaving her crypt.

Her eyes followed his form as he faded through the wall.

"...****."

The Darkness had enveloped him, covering him like a sheet, twisting his mind and soul into something else. He had no idea how long he was being tortured, only that he was being tortured.

When he felt the touch of her spirit searching through the darkness, he told her what she wanted to hear. He had to be careful and not let on too much; she was turned older than most of the other living vampires and was more suspicious.

He recognized the aura. She had been sent to the realm twice in death and countless times to visit. Hariasa.

This would likely be his only chance to get out, and he took it, binding his spirit to hers, completing the bond before she even had a chance to think about it.

He was brought into a sparse crypt. The vampire backed away when he materialized. She remembered.

The wraith smiled, the expression seeming foreign on his countenance, and attacked her, further draining her of anima after such a difficult spell. Then, wordlessly, he left, his "master" standing dumbfounded in his wake.

He had business to attend to, people to see. They had to be informed of the good news.

Cobb had returned.