Short breaths accompanied a gaze at the starry ceiling. There, his crimson eyes managed to see something new—a rise of black particles, as if burnt paper, ascended to the ceiling, moved by some strange wind that wasn't present here.
"Fleur, hurry, grab him!" gestured Gevil.
"Quieter, don't run so fast!" yelled Fleur after Gevil, who had already entered the room.
The strange room repelled them, not physically, but psychologically. They couldn't run at full strength; they had to fight something in their minds, with some unpleasant feeling of discomfort.
"Gevil, his eyes!" he pointed at Arlok. He had lost the crosses; his eyes were tired, but they no longer emanated the same anger and hatred as before.
"Master," Arlok didn't respond to the hasty words of the two Junior Officers.
His mind floated on a strange current, as if time began to warp around him, and the voices in his head were seizing his mind...
**
"Arlok?"
"Yes?"
