In front of the brutal spectacle of slaughter, those who were still alive couldn't utter a single word.
They had taken others' lives, seen copious blood, shattered limbs, colorful innards, brains on the walls — such sights and stenches were nothing new to them.
But this was different, there was no guilt or hesitation, the fervor of a homicidal maniac and the indifference of professional assassins — none of these normal or abnormal emotions could be discerned from the actions of the man in black.
Even though he was engaged in a killing game, and seemed to revel in the manipulation of others' lives, there was no passion to assert anything discernible in the aura surrounding him.
Killing and torturing were boring, done as indifferently as one would step on an ant while walking, unconscious actions devoid of even malicious intent.
This frightened people even more.
Roland clenched his fists, feeling cold and damp stickiness in his palm.
