****
Amon's eyes weakly fluttered open, his body aching considerably.
He instantly felt the hard outline of the mask on his face, making him realize that it had not been taken off.
But other than that, he felt himself wearing soft fluffy clothes, contrasting his equipment.
It was then that the memories of the previous battle assaulted his brain.
Everything from start to finish was refreshed in his brain as snippets flashed in his vision.
The blood, the screams, the flesh.
It felt as if he was going through it all once more.
He clenched his hands underneath the sheets and bit his lip, drawing out blood.
'I'm still weak….' He gritted his teeth.
He had made the plan with the assumption that Norman wouldn't be there.
It was a major flaw in his plan. But then again, there was barely any way he could beat the man with a plan anyway.
Like it had been said previously, a 4th-Tier armentist was no joke.
