Trigger warning
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The hug. The comfort. The wonderful feeling only lasted for so long until Frozen Milk covered Prota's eyes with a cloth.
Then with a cold expression, Frozen Milk proceeded to take the syringes lying on the ground before stabbing one of the tortures in the eyes. A loud scream escaped from their lips and bounced back from the walls to enter Prota's ears.
"Frozen... Milk?" Prota asked cautiously not knowing what was going on.
As the stabbed person staggered backwards, Frozen Milk hid behind them as the others charged at him. He used the person and threw him against the others and when they collided, Frozen Milk stabbed each of their eyeballs as if he was pricking balloons.
The system was speechless at this display of brutality and pure gore. However, Frozen Milk wasn't done by far. He plucked out their eyeballs, twirled it in his fingers before stuffing it in their mouths making them swallow it.
Another string cut into Frozen Milk's heart. He knew he had to leave as soon as possible.
With the last bit of strength, Frozen Milk took one of the iron bars, seemingly used to burn Prota with, on the table with various torture tools and smashed their heads, just like the opponent's, to a fleshy puddle.
Then he used the sharp end of the bar to cut open Prota's ropes.
"Frozen Milk?" Prota shout followed Frozen Milk as he left the room and headed down the hallway.
Hallway after hallway, until he collapsed.
Frozen Milk could feel his heart splitting into half and more blood gushed out of his mouth. Frozen Milk wasn't proud of what he did but he was glad that in the end, he could do something, even if it meant to sacrifice two worlds for his protagonist.
Frozen Milk made a decision and this decision was something he didn't regret.
***
The sight of Frozen Milk dragging the opponent out of the arena had everyone in shock. It was only until they were out of sight, did anyone dare to breathe again.
Holbe snapped out of her trance and moved down the stairs. She jumped over the railing onto the battleground and followed Frozen Milk.
The trail of blood made it easy for her to track where he went. Various thoughts flooded her mind and she wasn't sure what she should think of the matter.
Frozen Milk seemed like a completely different person. What was, however, the biggest concern was that the black threads were now visible and actually melted into powers for Frozen Milk to use based on his emotions.
Holbe could clearly see the once thin small black threads inside Frozen Milk's body overwhelm the white and started to merge with his body. If a white vase was filled with water, a simple drop of black ink could threaten everything to be contaminated. But it was only 'could'.
However, what if this droplet of black ink didn't bother with the water but instead directly attacked the vessel itself to taint it black. Slowly, the white vessel would turn black and thus influence the water it was carrying.
This was the current situation Frozen Milk was in. Holbe didn't notice that the black threads leeched themselves onto Frozen Milk's skin, instead to multiply in his white aura, until it came to a boiling point like now.
Holbe got too absorbed in other trivial things and failed to realise this crucial point. She prayed to the deity that her holy powers were enough to heal Frozen Milk and contain the leakage of the sinister aura.
She moved through the passages as she heard an anguished scream. She sped up and ripped her long dress shorter in order to move quicker and took off her veil to see better.
Yet when she arrived, she only saw a wounded and lost Prota who returned her confused stare.
"Where is Frozen Milk?" he asked, "he was just here. He was just... with me!"
Behind Holbe suddenly Glimpse Water's voice rang, "Man, what the hell is this? Why did you have to run this fas- "?
Glimpse Water staggered backwards as he saw the massacre unfolding in the room before him.
"You stay with him!" Holbe ordered and set off to find Frozen Milk. In all of her life, she never wished for anything more than for Frozen Milk to be saved right now.
***
The black threads spun endlessly from the golden wheel before they were cut into little ones and with a slid of the wrist were sent into the air to fly and aim for its target.
The lone person who sat in the golden chair and religiously created the blackness, smiled,
"Soon," they said, "Soon we can get out of here."
Soon, when all the black threads disappeared. Until the target has absorbed all of them, it wouldn't die, it wouldn't stop, until then the person will continue sitting here to spin the threads of fate.