"Forgive me... Vela. Hahaha. Just when I found someone genuinely sincere towards me. Now? Everything has been snatched away so swiftly!"
Viktor's cries intensified, a tumult of every conceivable pain, a shattered soul, and escalating stress.
Wasn't he supposed to protect someone who cared for him?
Another facet of the man continued a fierce internal struggle with his desperate self.
The room became an arena for the clash of emotions, a battleground where despair and self-recrimination waged war within Viktor's tormented psyche.
"Vela, I'm sorry...,"
A profound emptiness engulfed him, a void where direction seemed lost amidst the currents of sorrow, regret, and a profound sense of disappointment aimed at the very essence of "himself."
The weight of self-reproach hung heavy, an anchor dragging him deeper into the depths of his own internal turmoil.
*
No one seemed to care about the noise from Viktor's room. Perhaps the people there just didn't care much, or maybe Sergoth, with his impressive intelligence and power, managed to make everyone ignore the loud sounds.
Even though Sergoth didn't achieve what he originally wanted, he was okay with how things turned out. He called it a mix of good and annoying—a kind of strange and complicated drama.
With a big grin, he said, "It was like a story that was both fun and frustrating," and then he disappeared into his own created world of darkness.
On a night intolerant of sunlight, accompanied by a torrential and deafening rain, Viktor carried Vela's lifeless body to an abandoned patch of land – not too far from his lodging but seldom visited due to ominous tales of lurking demons.
In the dim glow of the moon, Viktor's eyes remained unreadable. His face, though seemingly expressionless, bore traces of weariness, and tears continued to trickle down, blending with the raindrops. Each step he took seemed laden with a heavy burden.
"There is nothing left of me except the growing desire for revenge," he murmured, his words swallowed by the relentless downpour.
The desolate land bore witness to Viktor's sorrow, a solitary figure navigating the intersection of grief and a vengeance that seemed to expand with each passing moment.
Viktor proceeded to dig into the soil, laying Vela's lifeless form to rest. Prior to that, he gently caressed Vela's face, a tender gesture before leaping back up and shrouding her with earth.
"See what happens when you halt this game," remarked Malphas. "You hesitated, but know that your adversary knows no hesitation and will relentlessly assail you until utter destruction, Viktor! Ahahaha." Malphas's thunderous laughter resonated in the pouring rain, as Viktor fervently scooped soil to hasten the burial of Vela's body.
The echoes of Malphas's ominous words mingled with the rhythmic patter of the raindrops, creating an eerie ambiance in the desolate burial ground.
*
The intensifying rain relentlessly pounded the earth's surface, yet it failed to deter a man's determination to pay his final respects to a girl buried beneath a mound of wet and somber soil.
Standing steadfast for over two hours, he refused to waver, despite the biting cold brought on by the howling wind, his clothes and body drenched, unseen creatures causing an itch in his legs, and raindrops obstructing his vision.
"This is not over yet..."
The drumming of his anger beckoned forth a demon, appearing with a deceptive grin—anything but friendly. Malphas's blood-red hands gently touched Viktor's shoulders, whispering temptations into the man's ears with a seductive allure.
"Does it feel incredibly constricted right here?" Malphas pointed to Viktor's chest, sensing the irregular beat of his heart.
"Isn't it the anger and pain emanating from your chest that beckons me?" he continued. Shifting his stance, he now faced Viktor, locking eyes with him, forcing the young man to engage in an unwelcome staring contest.
"It's not pleasant, is it? That restrained desire for revenge feels more nauseating than you might think." The words hung in the air, charged with an unsettling intensity as the rain continued to drench the scene.
Viktor's inner turmoil mirrored the tempest above, the clash of emotions echoing through the desolate burial ground.
Malphas's hand movements seemed almost casual, like swiping through a touchscreen, and in an instant, they found themselves inside Viktor's room. The abrupt transition made the chaotic scene outside vanish, leaving only the sanitized atmosphere of the living space.
Inside the room, the transformation was remarkable. It had reverted to its original state, devoid of any unsettling remnants of the violent clash that had transpired.
There were no lingering stains, no scattered remnants of the tumult; it was as if the room had been wiped clean of the recent disturbance.
The air inside, once charged with the aftermath of a conflict, now carried an eerie calmness. Every trace of spilled blood and chaos was meticulously erased, leaving an uncanny sense of order.
The clothes of Viktor and Vela, previously strewn haphazardly, now lay on the floor in an oddly neat arrangement.
"Oh, no! Please don't thank me for the trouble of cleaning up the mess here," Malphas remarked with a devilish grin, his eyes playfully glancing at the clothing scattered across the floor.
His mischievous tone hinted at the selective nature of his cleaning efforts, focusing solely on the bloodstains and ignoring the "pre-existing mess" that had been a part of the room before the intense confrontation.
The room, now eerily tidy, served as a surreal backdrop to the lingering tension between Viktor and the supernatural entity in their midst.
"Why didn't you show up when the horrifying incident happened earlier?" Viktor's question sliced through the air, carrying a tone of accusation that caught Malphas off guard.
"Ah?" Malphas uttered in a moment of genuine surprise, his usually composed demeanor momentarily disrupted.
"Too burdensome, so you needed someone else to take the blame, huh?" Viktor's voice carried a touch of skepticism as he raised an incredulous eyebrow, unyielding in his pursuit of answers.
Viktor's accusation left Malphas momentarily speechless, grappling with a mix of irritation and the realization that this mortal was not one to be easily manipulated. It was a stark reminder that Elara's choice in selecting this particular individual was not arbitrary.
The young man's soul, weathered by suffering, was like a case prepared by the Supreme Court for entry into heaven.