The words "WHO SAID THAT?" echo over themselves a thousandfold, in every manner of voice and speech. Phaedra kneels amongst the docile purple seaghosts, brandishing her sword weakly, as the voice speaks again.

Mysterious Voice: Ah, a question with billions of correct answers! It used to be much easier for me to define myself. A cloud of crimson veins, adrift in a sea of dead faces... What am I, really?

Behind Phaedra, red veins of light snake around the wall of seaghosts, turning many of them bright red - their eyes flash crimson, and all suddenly bear wicked, sharp-toothed smiles.

Mysterious Voice: I have been nothing for five thousand years... and I have been everything. But the god of death has only one name, no matter what soul he wears. Tell me, dear princess: WHAT IS MY NAME?