That pitch-black darkness swirling in those eyes finally thinned. Cyn's eyelids trembled—
he was waking from torment, from a dreamlike reality that had nearly ruined him.
He could sense time rushing past even in the faint twitch of his eyelids. Moments ago, he had been trapped in a frozen space filled with pain and bottomless agony.
Now… he could finally breathe again.
He had no idea whether he had succeeded or failed in awakening the Scar.
All he knew was that the suffering had ended at last.
Yet something still nagged at him, clouding his thoughts.
A long while passed before he gathered enough strength to fully open his eyes.
Something soft under his head caught his attention. His gaze lifted—and landed on two large breasts, the cherry-colored nipples standing proudly. Above them was that angelic, devilish face staring down at him with a faint smile, blood-red eyes glimmering, and dried streaks of bloody tears running down her cheeks.
A truly demonic beauty.
Cyn's head rested on Xyrene's thighs. She broke the silence—not with congratulations for awakening the Scar, not with questions about the torment the two of them had endured, not with concern for his physical state.
Instead, she asked in a calm, steady voice stripped of emotion:
"You must be feeling several conflicting emotions. Tell me… which one dominates you right now?"
His lips barely moved. With a wavering breath, Cyn answered simply:
"I feel… lust."
The bed around them was drenched in blood, looking almost like the aftermath of a massacre. With difficulty, he reached toward her breasts, brushing them lightly before his hand drifted upward. His fingers touched her rosy cheek, wiping away some of the dried blood.
He didn't know how.
He didn't know why.
He didn't know the purpose behind it.
Yet he felt that Xyrene was in this condition because of him.
Perhaps she had helped him somehow.
His hand didn't stop at her cheek.
It rose higher, pointing upward. His eyes followed, staring vacantly toward the ceiling.
But Xyrene understood he wasn't pointing at the ceiling. She saw the direction clearly—he was pointing toward a distant place, something only he recognized, something engraved in his mind as the upper sky.
With a faint smile and a yearning tone, he licked the blood from his lips and whispered:
"I feel… lust!"
He paused, eyes fixed on that unseen height.
Then:
"LUST… FOR GOD."
Xyrene shattered inside.
She had been broken at his first answer—lust? only that?
But now lust for God?
What was that supposed to mean?
How could someone define such a feeling?
How could someone even experience it?
Feels lust for God.
Yet despite her confusion, Xyrene understood a part of what he meant. The two of them had not spoken about the mistakes made with the dosage, nor about what they had endured together.
They were exhausted.
Cyn especially wanted nothing more than deep sleep.
His strength failed him, and his hand fell onto the bed. Xyrene gently placed his head on a pillow and stood up. In her hand was a bottle filled with a purple liquid. She took it into her mouth, then, after a long look at Cyn, leaned down. Her hair fell around them like a curtain.
Her lips pressed slowly against his. She kissed him deeply, opened his mouth, and allowed the liquid to flow from her tongue into his, sliding down his throat and through his esophagus.
Cyn swallowed the purple drink.
Xyrene pulled back with a long kiss, ending only with a thin, transparent thread of saliva between them.
In that dim room, the only thing still alive and gleaming were her silver eyes.
Then—
In that vast expanse once more.
On that glasslike floor once more.
Between the lower sky and the upper one—
Cyn stood there again, staring at his reflection.
At his scarlet Scar devouring the endless mass of fog as if feeding on it.
A bottomless pit.
Devouring that fog.
Devouring that heap of pain as if it were the sweetest delicacy.
The Scar didn't care about pain. It cared only about satisfying itself—
as if it had lived alongside agony since ancient times.
He didn't know why he had returned to this space. All he remembered was that strange sensation—hunger, desire, that pull telling him he belonged here.
Looking at his reflection, he saw nothing else.
The shadows behind him had vanished.
His reflection looked more solitary than ever.
But that wasn't the important part.
For an unknown stretch of time—as if time had frozen—Cyn felt his heartbeat quicken.
Then he heard a voice.
Not from the glass floor.
Not from the reflection.
But from inside him.
A voice from his depths.
As if he was speaking to himself—something that had always been there, but he had never sensed it.
Until now.
"Human! There you are. Should I even call you human? The history of Scars is long and bloody, yet here you are—someone who actually matches me. I don't know whether that's good news or bad."
Cyn knew the voice came from inside his head, so he thought of a way to respond:
"What is that supposed to mean? Are you the mark on my body—the Scar?"
The voice echoed again:
"You call this kind of thing a mark where you come from. Here, we call it a Scar. A long history of massacres was waged just to obtain Scars."
"Yes… I am your Scar. The Scar of Pride. The Scar of Self-Indulgence. The Scar of Defiance."
"Since we'll be together for a long time, let me tell you something in each session we have. I am born from all of these—pride, defiance, and selfishness since the dawn of life."
"Scars are easy to obtain. A few wounds, tragedies, crossroads in your life, and you gather several. But some Scars can't be obtained simply."
"Some Scars cannot be controlled. Some twist you from your path. Some cannot be atoned for."
"In this world, Scars aren't something to brag about. If you don't cleanse or remove them, they'll hunt you until you're destroyed. Not everyone is allowed to carry a Scar."
"I can't explain everything now, but I'll teach you one thing before you leave—how to use me."
Cyn listened quietly.
There was no time to question or doubt.
He had no space for hesitation.
Especially because Xyrene hadn't taught him much—this was before his awakening.
Now he had much to learn.
The Scar's voice continued:
"I assume you can feel me right now—partially, not fully. But that's enough."
"Tell me how you're feeling… no, don't. I'll tell you myself. Your heartbeat is racing. You feel suffocated. Your breathing is fast. I am bleeding—your Scar is bleeding."
Cyn did not deny it.
The Scar was right.
Of course it would know. They were connected now.
The voice echoed again:
"This is how it works. You're using me right now. The racing heart, the suffocation, the bleeding—this is how you wield me. And this is how you'll sense me."
"For now, you must train—train to stop the bleeding, train to keep your heartbeat steady, train not to suffocate. Control your circulation. Constant bleeding will raise suspicion. Suspicion brings questions. Questions force actions. And actions… make heads roll."
"I can hide the Scar on your body in some situations, but not always. I won't always be there, even if you're using me."
"Remember this: even if you're physically strong, defeating those skilled with their Scars—or those who wield a Halo—is nearly impossible."
"So for now, train. Hide. Stay out of sight."
"Until we meet again."
Cyn stared at his reflection and let out a dry, mocking laugh.
"You talk too much… for someone who represents pride."
The moment he spoke, a choking pressure overwhelmed him—
and the space vanished.
He woke up on the bed in Xyrene's suite.