The Unholy Masque of Madness

It’s been some weeks since last I’ve faced the devilish kin, but the whispers persist, calling out from the gutters of Londontown. An invitation arrived, sealed with wax and signed by none other than Lady Lilith herself - a twisted summons to attend a masked soiree deep in Mayfair’s mansion district. How could I resist?

'Twould have been folly to enter alone, so I called upon our most trusted allies: Father Ignatius, Brother Sebastian, and the ever-resourceful Miss Phoebe Reilly. We took up guise as opera singers, each donned in silks and satins, masks concealing our identities, even as we bore our holy weapons close to hand.

Into the belly of the beast we ventured, sipping champagne and dancing with the damned until the stroke of twelve. Then, the façades fell away, and the true nature of those present became clear. From the depths of hell itself came the nightmarish revelers, their grotesque features bared, their hunger for mortal souls laid bare.

With steel and silver, we waded into the maelstrom, cleaving through the abominable throng. The dance of death ensued, bodies falling, limbs severed, hearts pierced. Through it all, I heard the cries of the innocent, pleas for deliverance, spurring me forward. By morning’s light, the villainous host had fallen, leaving only a trail of ruin in their wake. But alas, dear Father Ignatius paid the ultimate sacrifice, his body consumed by flame. Though he’s gone, his spirit lives on, a guardian angel watching over us still.