[Suzerain of Sheol]

Be brave, mon amour, Assassin silently wishes her master as he sets off. It will be Hell anew, waiting, holding her fiends in check, but oh, the delight to the set them free when the moment comes. The shredding of flesh, the scorching of nerves, labyrinthine teeth grinding bones, the strangulations, the sheer carnage she can unleash!

True, dear Isaac asked her ever-so-nicely to restrain her predations from the populace, but even still, a glut of victims is about to present itself. Maybe that boy from earlier; if he has such a fetish for bleeding, she can certainly give him all he'll ever want and more. Hanging his flensed carcass from that statue on the church-tower would be an ecstasy of sacrilege. A golden child for the golden whore, ha!

La Voisin studies the distant, dazzling figure on the rooftop, so offensively gazing down at her. Oh, come now, we're all whores. Spreading your legs for God Almighty doesn't make you any different. They all used to pray to you, right before they would come to me. I'd have cut that holy bastard out of you and splattered him with a hammer, and damned if you wouldn't have thanked me for it! Garce Pharisaïque! You're no better than any of the others.

Taken up with her disgust at being on holy ground, Assassin nonetheless can't escape the sensation that she is not alone. Her clairvoyance marks out the Masters, Ruler, and five other Servants. Not six. She chortles at the realization.

"Oh, mon Dieu Impie! What sort of game have we begun?!"