"He was the spawn of a harlot and a bastard in the grave he is..." I muttered, and examined my next victim. The Queen in Black.

"He was a spectre of a man and he may he never find peace in death..." I haphazardly flew the card from the deck in my gloved hand, watching it cut some spiral of a dance through the fog and strike the headstone, flight halted. Falling, it joined the corpse mound of kings and queens and numbers weighing heavily upon the sodden ground.

"He was a slave to death's name and even now he will serve Azrael..."

"Unloved and cherished only by the dead, let them embrace him as their own..."

"His hatred unspoken, his vengeance unsought, a coward in blood and heart..."

Upon the penultimate draw, I paused, watching my breath cloud in the air, breathing in the epitaphial Nirvana of the graveyard, filling my lungs with the cool balm of dusk's ambiance. Pure, channeled, raw energy borne of giddy anticipation and anxiety threatened to overtake my steadiness, but I summoned the infinite reserve of the void within and extinguished my excitement, slowly returning to my task, placing my finger upon the face of the final draw. And with a smooth flick, I sent it to convene with royal family and those of common number, leaving me alone with a familiar face.

"Jack Crimea is dead. Long live Jack Crimea, the Jack in Red." And, bursting into flame in my hand, I brought the card to my mouth, laying it upon my tongue, swallowed.