Smack!
Another blood bottle shattered on the rooftop, spraying blood everywhere.
No, no, no!
Luosang the Second lay prone on the ground, trembling all over. He clutched his head and face tightly in his arms, howling in despair inwardly.
Yet every inch of his body roared, crying out for the blood on the ground.
It squeezed the last of his reason.
His organs and tissues, joints and muscles, steamed like boiling water and convulsed without end.
Stop!
Listen to me!
I am Luosang the Second!
The master of this body!
Not you!
Not you all!
No!
Luosang the Second struggled desperately, issuing orders to whatever remained inside his body—heaven knew what was left.
But it was useless.
They clamored and protested, each doing as it pleased and refusing to listen to him.
He wanted to take a step, but could not lift his legs.
He wanted to pick up his sword, but could not move his hands.
He wanted to close his eyes, but could not shut his eyelids.
And they—all of them—were scrambling to protest against him, wanting to draw closer to the bloody stench filling the ground and walls.
It was like soldiers scrambling to abandon the barracks after their commander, stripped of authority, had suffered defeat.
But what could he do?
He was too weak.
Too weak.
The smell of blood around him grew stronger and stronger, far exceeding the greatest limit he could endure.
It was as if he were soaking in a pool of blood.
"Look, there's so much blood. It's all freshly drawn human blood from today," Catherine laughed loudly from the rooftop opposite, smashing another blood bottle and pointing at the blood splashing everywhere. "You can't hold out anymore, can you?"
Her laughter held the madness of someone finally released from a crushing