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Drip, drip. Warm blood kept falling to the ground, pooling beneath Ince Zangwill's knees.
His hands, with their pointed nails, clutched a piece of bloody raw flesh as he tore into it ravenously.
The white quill and the bloodstained old notebook lay open carelessly behind him. The defected Bishop of Evernight seemed no longer to care how the dangerous 0-08 might tamper with his fate. All he cared about was the delicious food before him and the euphoria that came after killing.
On the pages spattered with blood that had already darkened to a deep red, lines of text appeared one after another:
"Poor Ince Zangwill. Madness felt so wonderful. He had been utterly captivated by the joy of slaughter, something he could never have obtained in his career as a clergyman preaching restraint of desire."
"Why not use his own power? Why not act as he pleased? He had already left that damned Church. He clearly had the power to indulge in pleasure. He was already a lofty demigod..."
"...yet he had never dared draw attention to himself for fear of being discovered by the Church, scraping by among various organizations like a rat scurrying across the street, kicked aside once he had served his purpose. Wasn't that utterly ridiculous?"
"Poor Ince Zangwill. When had a devil's heart replaced your own?"
Blood spread across the page, covering the last line.
Uncanny shadows fell across Ince Zangwill's face, its features as sharply defined as a classical sculpture, and his eye sockets sank deep. His chest was covered in blood, strands of blood and scraps of flesh clung to his sharpened teeth, and his sole remaining eye gleamed with a bloody, terrifying light in the darkness.
After finishing his meal, he picked up 0-08 and the notebook without so much