Kieran felt strange, terribly strange.
For the first time in the months — since the beginning of this bizarre, manipulative, and catechizing Trial, which made him question things about himself through surreal impressions— Kieran's mind was focused.
Well, as focused as it could get while remaining victim of a hell where he could not speak, he was a prisoner of fanatics and lost his connection to every source of power he could think of.
Still, despite those circumstances, Kieran had obtained a shred of clarity and retained a trace of reason. With that came a renewed interest in reorganizing the disordered patchwork known as his soul.
With every piece put back together in its rightful place, Kieran felt a part of his original bearing come back together at the frayed seams. The Testament of Dying Blood had arranged his soul in a way that made him susceptible to every dark thought, murderous impulse, or vengeful desire.
