บท 8: The Last Blood
His skin crawls within the rain but the abyss hasn't left. His body in position, like it had left for battle; his lips were stitched together, his veins were bleached in white, pale as a ghost.
He was melting in the darkness, the horrors had got to his throat and cutted the strings. His skin then became dry and his ears were no longer useful.
The fingertips became frostbitten frozen in fear, but the air around his body was never ending. It was more like a dark piano becoming colder and colder as the sensation grew less hope in living.
He no longer tried to live, and instead sold off his veins for the poison that overgrew in his heart.
It was not a victory, it was a draw
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