Perhaps after finally seeing himself in such a deranged state, the laughter ceased.
But Azriel's throat felt as though it were on fire, as if flames were licking along the walls of his trachea.
While the two before him remained kneeling on the ground in fear, Azriel slowly lifted both hands and stared at them. They were covered in so much blood it looked as though they had been painted red. Small fragments of what looked like guts, bone, and skin still clung to his fingers.
His emotions were difficult even for him to describe.
His face looked more as though he were still processing everything, tinged with fear and confusion, but the two trembling humans before him seemed to mistake that expression for calmness. Perhaps it was calmness.
Azriel brought his hands together with a sharp clap, making both of them flinch. Then he began clapping again and again, trying to shake off the disgusting remains stuck to his skin.
That, too, was misinterpreted by the last two survivors.
