"Haa… haaa…!!!"
Bishop Philemon felt his chest churn with pain as he ran mindlessly. His blurry gaze lacked focus, and his head merely bobbed as he kept moving his two legs—refusing to stop for whatever reason.
'He can't find me… he won't find me!' The Bishop told himself as he wheezed.
An elder like him was no longer built for such arduous activity, but after watching all of his comrades get so easily eliminated by a single man… he had lost all sense of reason and respect for his own body.
All that mattered at this point was survival.
"I will live! I must!" He kept chanting. "He won't find me!"
Despite his ever-present fear in the pale entity that led the slaughter, he still had a certain measure of confidence in his Curse—the one bestowed upon him by their almighty deity.
The Curse of Absence.
