His days had passed in a flash and blur, his mind struggling to cope with what happened—the massacre he wrought. While it had its reasons to happen, the deaths, what he did, his appearance.
The aftermath haunted Kyrie's mind, with comparisons filling every waking thought, comparing himself to monsters and creatures he fought. What was the difference between them now?
Both killed so many with no regard for the lives of their victims, killing to get a point across or for their objectives—survival, and malice. Does it matter in the end what their goals were when the result is the same?
Kyrie couldn't fathom the answer or even forgive himself for this. The moment things went south when he was alone without anyone else to keep him company, left a bad taste of disgust and reviling hatred in his mouth.
