The darkness emanating from Anthony was vile and dirty, murky and deadly. His heart raced a mile a minute, his blood yearning to escape his own body. He looked at Angela's crumpled body on the floor; her eyes were too dark. He observed his hands, completely black, camouflaged even among the thin smoke that surrounded the entire island. In his hand, the sword throbbed even stronger; a sterile gleam emerged like water and enveloped Anthony's body. His mind, somewhat clouded, gained more clarity; his eyes momentarily dazzled. He shook his head and regained composure. When he looked at Angela, he was surprised to see her dead on the ground, but the most unsettling thing was that she didn't seem like herself, more like an old woman whose beauty had vanished along with her strong vitality. Undoubtedly, the most unsettling thing was that her sea of soul was empty; an infinite blackness.