Chapter 189: Refuse the End
"Still nothing?" he said, tone flat. "You know, there comes a point where this stops being amusing. And just becomes... pointless."
—-
Dylan didn’t answer. Just the clinking of chains, a nervous twitch in his left leg. He no longer had the strength to lift his head, let alone challenge the man with a stare. His Stigma pulsed faintly, like a sick heart.
The executioner sighed. He leaned in, grabbed Dylan’s jaw, and lifted it with a leather-gloved finger. The Awakened’s eyelids fluttered slowly, as if even that had become an ordeal.
"Look at me."
But there was no response.
He lightly tapped his cheek. It was no slap. Not even a blow—just a cold summons to consciousness.
"You’re going to die of spiritual exhaustion if you keep this up. That’s stupid, isn’t it? No grand finale. No spectacular escape. Just... drained."
He let go of the jaw, which dropped limply. Dylan tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. A spiritual nausea gripped him. An indescribable sensation, like his very being was tearing apart in slow motion, piece by piece.
The alchemical poison was infiltrating the hidden corners of his essence. Each heartbeat pulled him closer to a chasm deeper than death.
The loss of self.
The man slowly returned the empty Chrysalid case to his coat. He cast one final glance at Dylan, then turned toward the door.