In the dim room of Block B, Amed collapsed onto the floor.
Thud!
His knees slammed hard onto the ground, then his entire body curled up like a shrimp tossed into boiling water.
"Ughhh..."
A hoarse sound emerged from his throat.
It wasn't like the moan of an ordinary wounded person.
It was as if something was crawling within his chest, clawing at his throat, tearing apart his soul, then forcing him to swallow the pain back down inside.
Fresh blood gushed from his nose.
From his mouth.
Even the corners of his eyes began to seep thin streams of blood.
His already corpse-pale face was now twisted to the point of barely resembling a human form. His two hands clutched his head tightly, his fingernails clawing into his scalp until they drew blood, but he still couldn't stop the feeling of pain tearing apart inside his soul.
The puppet had been incinerated.
It wasn't just losing a tool.
Because to control it from afar, Amed had used his own soul as the connecting thread.
