Kyrie feels his sides hurt, a clenching pain at the sides of his torso, the leftover marks of little Kyrie still on the sides of his ribs. "Hey, Kyrie, do you know how I healed? Because… those wounds were very bad."
Some of the worst he had experienced, it was a good way to gauge the boy's strength and ferocity.
He lacked skill and thinking but made up for it with sheer power and aggressiveness. "Oh, I healed you. I can make fire, and I eat my fire if I can cure all my scratches and bruises. Do you still feel hurt anywhere? I can cure you."
From his fingertips, crimson flames appear instead of the usual black and red ones. Despite the color difference, he can tell it is the same fire he used, yet it is different in nature. 'Sometimes my fire also went crimson; I wonder what it means?'
