A little over two months ago, Sezel's journey in the Spirit Realm came to an abrupt halt.
His body was strung midair by monstrous chains, his breath coming in rasping, pitiful snatches as the links curled tightly around his throat.
His vocal cords were strained perfectly to not let a single noise escape. Not that he'd have known what to say.
Anyway—what was one supposed to yell, watching a literal monster in human skin, massacring an opponent as strong as the Ice queen right in front of them?
The Lord of Crossroads or so they called him, was on a different level entirely. What made Sezel hate and despise the bastard so much was that ghost of a smile, he wore on his pristine face while killing people.
The lady in magnificent red, the ice queen as Sezel had presumed. She was on her knees, frozen. Not because of the ice she created, but by the primal fear of death.
