"A trip to the devil's den… is definitely something they do not want."
The figure standing a kilometer away from Abel turned around and, into the mist, the person disappeared. A quiet sigh slipped past his lips.
"Your Majesty!" Conan's loud gasp snapped everyone from their trance, perking up on Abel's side. "Are you serious?"
"Never been serious, Conan." Abel's eyes simply gloss over his face before glancing over his shoulder. "Morro."
"Yes..." came out a deep voice before Morro, under the plain, old cloak, dragged his feet to Ismael, and slumped on the ground. He bent over, grabbing Ismael on his bicep, and with a quick pull, Ismael was standing on his feet.
"Wait --"
Ismael's eyes went wide as Morro didn't listen to his plea as he carried him on his shoulder like a sack of wheat. Never in his life, he was carried like this, but Morro didn't even break a sweat as he securely wrapped his arm around his waist, elbow up.
