Dyon's master kneeled before him, taking his rough hands in her small and delicate palms. Dyon didn't seem to react to anything, remaining listlessly staring off at nothing.
He hadn't had a single coherent thought in as long as he could remember. All he felt was a torrent of emotions.
Rage had engulfed his mind and the boiling of his essence blood, balanced only be a woefully inadequate amount of celestial deer blood, was steadily overtaking his crumbling will power. His demonic intentions were overriding his rationality, and the grief in his heart seemed to be the only thing stopping him from doing something that fell in between ripping his master to shreds and ravaging her dignity – forever tainting their master-disciple relationship.
