Deep within the passage inside the tree trunk.
Blue smoke billowed from the muzzle of the pale Witcher Revolver in Lynn's hand. He panted violently and staggered backward, two finger-wide bullet holes in his chest and temple oozing thick erosion marks.
And before him.
Silver Fantasy still lay there, her eyes shut like a sleeping beauty's. The dense flesh plague constantly regenerated and crawled back over her body, but her lips remained covered in viscous fluid.
Lynn panted violently, his hanging hand gripping the Witcher Revolver in a death grip.
A terrible madness still lingered in his eyes.
Yes.
There was no guarding against it! Just as always, he worked on you without your noticing. A single lapse in vigilance, and he would slip through your defenses.
Even every thought followed your own logic, even made you believe you had thought that way all along. He had come so close, so very close to becoming his slave again, just like last time.
But perhaps this was simply your other side, wasn't it?
Because whether or not Little Refrigerator was a role you had created, he had sprung from you. Even if you resisted seeing yourself as him, wasn't desire the ultimate destination of emotion?
And now, all you needed to do was possess her.
Then everything about her would belong to you. And that so-called guilt was merely an insignificant emotion fed back by your human soul. Why would someone truly powerful care?
It was like a demon clinging to him, constantly whispering softly in his thoughts.
And after listening long enough.
It seemed as though the one whispering had been him all along.
Lynn said, crazed:
"Yes, that's right. You're absolutely right. You've lain dormant inside me for so long. Isn't seeing me do this exactly what you wanted?"