As soon as the last smoke faded, my lungs forgot how to work.
My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, but I couldn't feel the pain. I couldn't feel anything except the violent, suffocating pressure inside my chest.
Why?
Why?
Why was this happening?
Why was Leonhart doing this to me?
The memories were still fresh. They had never faded. Not even a little. Every single death. Every scream. Every smile they forced before everything fell apart.
I still saw them whenever I closed my eyes. I still heard the sound of their bodies hitting the ground. I still remembered the warmth of blood soaking into my hands.
And now?
Now he was showing me this.
The figure in front of me.
It shattered something inside me so completely I couldn't even make a joke. My usual humor, my stubbornness, my ridiculous inner commentary… all gone. Stripped away.
This was his message.
You are still weak.
You always will be.
