Izikel stood there with his clothes stained in blood, staring at the flawless figure standing before him. He was perfect in every way possible.
"Izikel, I have enjoyed watching your journey so far. In such a short time, you have proven to me that you have the capability to achieve great things," Oroborn's voice echoed, smooth and imposing.
"I knew that only someone like you, who puts his desires above all things, is fit to serve me."
"Why did you bring me here?" Izikel asked, his voice shallow, filled with despair.
His eyes were hollow, and his body sagged, drained not from exhaustion but from the weight of the life he had just taken. Though he knew it had to be done, that didn't make it any easier. The bloodstains on his hands were a constant, damning reminder.
"I already told you," Oroborn replied, his voice growing sharper. "You are still too weak to know. And you don't expect me to explain myself to my servant, do you?"
The voice grew colder.
