"Cloak of Shadow"
Marksman 
Bloodborn 
Full Moon 
P. DMG 
Light Current: Lv200 SS10
Gallery: Lv200 SS10 + Skills = 20,964 BP
Doomed Banquet
Banquet of Captivity
Taste of Captivity
Afternoon of Leisure
Quantities shown are for reaching max rank (40)
DMG dealt by this Vassal varies with range. It increases by up to 50% at the farthest target while decreasing by up to 50% at the target nearby.
'Scream a little louder, or I'll keep you trapped in my mantle forever.'
For most of the Bloodborn, Sirene's name had long sunk into the depths of forgotten memory, fading with each passing generation.
But the moment the silver-haired sinner stepped through the gates of Bathory Castle, a few idle murmurs from deep within stirred—enough to make her insolent descendants recall the fear etched into their blood.
Deep in the wardrobe hang twenty-nine identical cloaks.
Yet lately, one of them feels… different. Perhaps it's only my imagination.
No matter how I scour my memory, I cannot recall where this particular cloak came from. Maybe that only proves how utterly unremarkable it is. Or perhaps… it was never mine to begin with. Perhaps someone else placed it there.
No—that's impossible. Isn't it?
After exchanging letters with Sirene, strange fragments of memory began to surface.
I saw miracles unfold on an ancient battlefield engulfed in fire and Black Blood. I watched as the crypt's heavy stone gates slammed shut, locking away the Bloodborn's wrath and despair along with a distant hope meant for the far-off future.
The memory ends there, but the feeling of that awakening still lingers in my chest.
What does it all mean...?
Sirene does have more hands than most—likely extensions of her will.
Just as she loathes introducing herself, she hates doing anything with her own hands. Rather than soil her skin with coarse objects or tire her muscles with effort, she'd much rather curl up in her cloak and let its hands do the work.
Come to think of it... how does she control so many at once?
The 'Crimson Inquisition'—that's what the history books call the great battle I glimpsed.
Overwhelmed by the Church's Blood Power, the Bloodborn of that era had no choice but to seal away their Elders—those who carried strange and ancient powers—deep within the crypt.
A mantle, a lance, a warhorse, armor... In the fractured haze of memory, only faint silhouettes remain.
And in a mantle soaked with vengeful souls, I saw Sirene's sleeping face.
Was that the destination she had reserved for me...?