Noah blinked.
His glazed-over eyes cleared, his body swayed slightly as if he had just woken up from a nap and had no idea where the hell he was.
A single thought ran through my head.
Oh, fuck.
He was back.
The real Noah. The one who wasn't a feral, flesh-eatingedgelord.
The boy stared at the scene in front of him—at the piles of armor and bones, at the horrified assassins, at the silence that had taken over the room like a funeral.
Then, in the softest, most stupidly confused voice, he said:
"Uh… what happened?"
Oh, for fuck's sake.
I felt like screaming.
No, actually, I felt like throwing myself off a cliff.
How the hell was I supposed to explain to this dumbass that he just went feral and melted people down to their skeletons?!
This wasn't just a "Hey, you blacked out and punched a guy" situation.
No.
He had lost his damn mind, turned into some eldritch nightmare, and gone on a devouring spree.
And now?
