The moon had already climbed high into the sky, casting its cold gaze upon the moonlit world below.
From the wilds beyond the stables came the trill of unidentified insects. Fisher's room was filled with a faint smell of saltpeter, yet the atmosphere mingled with something sticky, as if shrouded in darkness, leaving only simple and pure sensations.
It seemed as if time had lost its normal course here. How else could it have been afternoon just a moment ago, and now it was deep into the night?
Elliog lay gazing at the laboratory ceiling, his eyes wrapped with serpentine flames fluttering momentarily before settling. He then languidly turned to look at the man sitting beside the bed.
Fisher's body, which had just been exercised, seemed tirelessly robust, transforming into the heaviest steam engine of the human world, ruthlessly crushing his prey—a sensation all too familiar to Elliog.
