You descend into the Catacombs of the Weeping Saint, where torchlight flickers against slick stone walls carved with weeping angels whose eyes have been violently scratched out. The air reeks of rot and incense, and shattered coffins hint at something clawing its way out. In the silence of a vaulted chamber, a bone-clad priest rises from a pulsing pool of black ichor, clutching a censer that exhales violet flame. As shadowy figures stir in the alcoves, a whisper crawls into your mind—cold, wordless, and full of dread. Something ancient has awoken, and it is watching.