Connor took a step back from the heavy bag he'd installed in his Sepulcher and inspected his work. It was stable, at least he thought it was. Already dressed for a workout, he took a bare-knuckled jab at the bag and was satisfied by a resounding smack and the way the bag moved under his fist. This would work.

He threw blow after blow, practicing his form and letting out his aggression.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

"You let your emotions get the best of you...I thought you would get us all killed."

The woman's voice resounded in his head. His efforts were redoubled, his fists flew faster, harder.

Smack.Smack. Smack. Smack.Smack. Smack!

The chain creaked under the swinging of the bag, but he pushed on. It wasn't enough when he could still hear her voice in his head. His short comings, his failures.

"Is that what you desire Connor? Control?"

The words burned in his mind. It wasn't enough. Not yet. Not until they're silenced. Harder. Faster.

Smack!Smack!Smack!Smack!Smack!Smack!

The image of the ring sitting on the table swam through his mind. A symbol of broken trust and broken people. A sign that he was broken and beyond repair.

Even that scared little childe couldn't be brought to heel. You're weak, pathetic. You'll spend your Requiem alone; never trusting, never being trusted... all because you're too weak to get what you did to me out of your mind. Good. Remember me, remember what your lack of self-control wrought.

Another voice. A voice he knew too well, and a voice he would do anything to forget. It was laden with a heavy Irish accent. Its sweet, angelic tone added nothing but poison to the knife it wielded in his psyche.

But he would kill it away. It was now or never. He had to fight his demons if he had any hope of anything other than misery through the rest of his requiem. His blood boiled, demanding to burst forth and he allowed it to. It strengthened him, physically and in a lesser way mentally. Faster. Stronger. He WOULD kill her memory, and everything associated with it. Her voice rang through his mind, a laugh filled with so much acid it threatened to consume him; body and soul.

SMACK!SMACK!​SMACK!SMACK!​SMACK!SMACK!​SMACK!SMACK!

SNAP!

BOOM!

His fist suddenly met no resistance as the chain snapped and the bag flew and landed 5 feet from its original position. Shuddering, he stood in silence. Pure, blissful silence. A sigh of relief escapes his lips.

"I'm going to need a stronger chain."