Friedrich could only swallow hard.
One wrong move, one word of defiance, and the only fate that awaited him was death. The demonic miasma emanating from Vanitas was so vile and suffocating, so to the point that it clawed at the edges of sanity.
Friedrich's stomach turned as he struggled to keep his composure. He could not see, for his face was pressed flat against the ground under Vanitas's heel.
The crushing weight bore down on him, forcing the air from his lungs and twisting his insides until he nearly retched.
Whether it was the unbearable pressure or the bitter realization that he himself had brought Vanitas to the north, he could not tell.
And now, that very same man had the power to end his life at any moment.
"Astrea… you're a traitor… to humanity…"
Yet Friedrich held no intention of begging for mercy. To plead for his life would be no different from surrendering his dignity, and that was a death far worse than any blade could deliver.
