'Devil…'
A chill that had nothing to do with the cold water crawled down Conrad's spine.
A figure that looked exactly like him—save for the sharp crimson eye color and the strange facial markings— loomed over him. He seemed unaffected by the strong current that carried him across the river's depths.
Connie was still struggling to swim, his limbs flailed uselessly against the overpowering current, but that did nothing to help him. He was still hopeless when it came to swimming.
All he could do was hold his breath and hope for a miracle.
However, unlike with the Young Master, he wasn't going to get lucky this time.
As his lungs burned and his chest tightened, his only lifeline came in the reflection of himself, but it wasn't him.
'Devil, help me! Please!'
He shouted internally, hoping the spectra would heed his call for help.
As much as he wanted to celebrate how Devil wasn't a dream, he had to focus on his current dilemma.
