٨١١ That is the number carved into Matthew Moreau's mind the day he stumbles upon the grim work of an unhinged force in the fog-choked city of Cydra. The unholy, horrifying signature consists of Arabic numerals carved into the skin of victims, a foreboding mark, as if it were guided by a God with blood-stained hands. Vivid nightmares bleed into his waking world, while an ever-present gray figure hovers at the edges of his vision as Matthew struggles to unravel this crimson darkness. He finds himself longing for the Cedar Tree Forest, where its towering trees beckon, taunting him with a piece of his soul swallowed forever by the oblivion of time. The bloodstained trail of victims compels Matthew to wonder if he's tracking a killer of flesh and blood or something far more sinister. His sense of existence and meaning shattered long ago, and now, as the maw of uncertainty looms ever closer, everything feels hollow and pointless.