Light suddenly faded from where Ince Zangwill disappeared, staining the area with the richest and deepest darkness.
In the darkness, the sounds of melodic chanting could be heard. It was quiet and tranquil, hypnotic even. Even the countless pale arms flailing upwards underneath the pitch-black water seemed to slow down, no longer as frenzied as before, as if they had won redemption for their souls.
In such a "dark night," a figure walked out. It was none other than Ince Zangwill who had just been dragged into the spirit world.
Compared to before, he had lost the bonnet on his head. The clothes on his left shoulder were tattered, and a piece of flesh had been torn off. Faint yellow pus bubbled out one after another.
His eyes were no longer indifferent, but filled with pain, as if he was suffering some unimaginable torment.
The 0-08 quill continued writing.
