There was a distant, dazed expression on the face of the dark-haired young man. His raven-black eyes stared blankly into the void.
He sat in silence, the bleeding figure of a white-haired elf cradled in his arms.
Occasionally, a low chuckle escaped his lips, one that carried no joy—only the hollow sound of a mind teetering on the edge. It was the kind of laughter that made the air cold, as if the world itself could sense the despair he couldn't hide.
Fuska the Face Stealer was dead. Damon had killed him—devoured him.
He had gained the skill Blitz.
But the price… was Matia.
His friend was dead. Gone. She had fallen into the hole, and no matter how much he screamed inside, there was no bringing her back.
All her dreams… her laughter… the tiny things she valued… all of it, gone.
Because of him.
All because of me…
"You were the one who let her die," Carmen's voice echoed from the void beside him.
"Just the same way you let me die."
"You killed her."
