Walking with his head cast down unlike his usual stance, Isiah reached the Eclouxerra Institution of Magic in record time. He didn't care about Ciel, nor did he care about the severe damage he had inflicted on Aaron's neck. For a brief, intoxicating second, absolutely nothing mattered, and he deeply loved how that apathy felt.
He certainly didn't regret his violent outburst; in fact, deep inside, he found himself craving more.
Despite losing control during that chaotic transformation, he felt surprisingly fine now. The suffocating physical exhaustion that had plagued his body during the divine surge was long gone.
It must have been the sheer density of the divine energy, Isiah reasoned internally. My weak frame couldn't process that level of output all at once, which is why it drained me so completely.
