Albert was dead.
That was the only thing Valentius could think about. Albert, the boy who had suffered a horror like no other, was dead.
Bartolomeo was dead as well. His head turned into mush. The slight connection to the two of them, something the Archdemons had put in there to torment them, was still there.
Threatening to drag Valentius to the afterlife.
Valentius sat by Albert and cradled the dead boy in his arms.
He didn't care that the core was still alive and managed to survive until the reset. He was going to be there, on the second floor, with the horrible mantis.
He didn't care.
He didn't care about a thing.
He just wanted to tear out his hair, cluster by cluster, and to yell his throat sore.
"Why?" He whispered it to the air. Not knowing whom he was asking.
No one answered. For a second, Valentius thought that it was for the best. After all, if no one was answering, then no one was there to gut him.
