"Whew! That was intense!" Armis exclaimed, taking a huge breath after filling the temple with his voice. The atmosphere became thick with the pressure and dreading authority he exuded. King Roiran stood in confusion, his mind racing with questions of dread and puzzlement. Goliath lived? How? The only question that filled his mind made him numb as Armis continued, adopting a tone of nonchalance. He dragged Alan like luggage, walking back up the stairs.
"Now! I believe, judging by your moronic, confused looks, that you both have some questions… questions like: What the hell am I talking about? What the hell is written in that book? Even you tried to decipher it, right, Alan?" Armis's steps echoed along with Alan's groans and wheezes of unending agony. Armis raised him ahead, looking at his agonized form with feigned puzzlement, caring only about his rhetorical question and the tale he wove along.
"Using Lyco's knowledge to understand what was written in that book, but he never told you anything alarming but the complexity of that stupid language. But let me tell you, even if you had deciphered it! And even if YOU!" Armis shifted his attention, adopting a mocking tone as he yelled at the stunned King Roiran, who was now looking at the book he held. The king opened it, reading the words of ancient language written in it while Armis's mockery rang in his ears.
"King, if you read it right now, you would find nothing but old stories of children's literature from your time. Stupid, right?"
Armis's words held true. Despite the book's frightening appearance, the language within was nothing but tales and stories for children from King Roiran's time. No matter how many pages he turned in his grim haste, not a single word seemed out of place, threatening, or doom-bringing. His eyes darted back and forth over the fluttering pages, and Armis's steps echoed, followed by his voice.
"Confusing? Even I thought that when I first opened that book until I saw…the truth that was my destiny…words that were meant for me…the message that my father left me…" Armis's voice grew louder with each step, the need for dramatic flair overtaking any mercy for Alan's weakened form clutched in his hand. His expression held no sympathy for King Roiran's mounting frustration. All he cared about was revealing the tale he had hidden in his heart until now.
"I didn't find them in the black ink-ridden pages. I found them in the emptiness of those crackling pages, in the blankness. In the end of that book was written the beginning of my father's plan! The plan of revenge that never died, the vengeance that transcended time. And like a memoir of a heritage, it was passed down to me. The first words I found in the unseen ink were the words I always longed to hear."
As Armis's tone almost became a whisper, he let go of Alan's body, letting it fall violently onto the stairs. Alan's louder groans filled the air, echoing along with King Roiran's palpable frustration. Even as he listened to Armis's words, looking through the end of the book, he found nothing. But suddenly, an idea, a memory sparked in his mind. His confusion turned to shock, his eyes widened, gleaming blue, and the gritting of his teeth halted.
Only Alan's groans and Armis's voice remained in the air. Armis draped his arms over his own body, closing his eyes. For a moment, with his silent whispering, he exuded an emotion of love—a love he himself had never allowed to seep out. Rising along with his eyelids and the tone of his voice, he continued.
"My son, Armis. If you are the one who is reading this, because I know you are the only one who can in this wretched kingdom. Because you are the only one whose eyes recognize this language and would be strong enough to actually discern through this blank parchment. And if it's really you, then let me say one thing…"
Then, with a sudden twist of lunacy, Armis screamed, "YOU FUCKING LITTLE BASTARD, YOU DID IT!!!"
He yelled and he yelled, his voice brimming with maniacal pride, echoing the same fervor Goliath had for him. "I ALWAYS BELIEVED IN YOU, I KNEW YOU WERE MY PURE BLOOD, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW PROUD I AM RIGHT NOW. DESPITE YOUR WEAK MARK, YOU DID IT, YOU LITTLE MONSTER!!!"
Throughout his outburst, his embrace never left his own body, neither in love nor in lunacy. He took deep, satisfied breaths, savoring each one. Even without seeing directly, he could tell that King Roiran's attention was riveted not on him, but on the blankness of the book that Armis was raving about. The King could now see through it, yet his frustration and confusion persisted, mirroring the lunacy in Armis's eerie, satisfied tone.
"Oh yeah…the feelings I felt the first time reading it. It still gives me goosebumps. And yeah, King Roiran!" Armis yelled, breaking King Roiran's frustrated attention from the book to him, rubbing salt in his fresh wounds. "Yes! That is the page I am talking about, that language that you can see through with your monstrous vision, the only vision that the likes of us possess. But no matter how hard you try, you can't understand it." Armis unwrapped his arms from his body, smiling as he stepped forward, memories already surfacing in King Roiran's mind, tearing at old wounds he never knew existed, one by one.
"But you were sure that you were the one who taught him that technique, weren't you? Now be in bliss, your own 'disciple' fucked you up. He he!" A mocking chuckle escaped his twisted visage, filling with lunacy as he continued, straightening up. "Well, what could you expect from someone like him? I mean, he managed to pull one over on you, didn't he? He did, didn't he?!"
And then, with another burst of twisted lunacy, Armis spun on a single step like an adoring dancer, drowning out Alan's crushing pain and King Roiran's pulsing frustration that now began to climb towards rage.
"Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!!! Uphhff!" Armis blew out air like a child, stopping and walking down towards the groaning Alan. His emotions were as fake as his mocking, his words piercing more and more holes in Alan's broken heart, making him wish for the embrace of death. Somewhere along his dramatic mockery, Armis was truthful. Even Alan began to believe that if there was a God, He hated him, punishing him through each of Armis's words, which, despite his bleeding ears, sounded perfectly clear.
"C'mon Alan, why so…gloomy? I'm going to assume that repulsive expression of yours is gloomy…and confused. I mean, who wouldn't be?" Armis leaned in towards Alan, adding more emphasis to his mocking, like he was trying to hide his words from King Roiran.
But his amused side-glare and loud words were only meant to cause more harm to King Roiran's pride, his tall stature withering more and more with Armis's words. "So, as a great friend that I am, let me dispel your confusion and tell you the story of a king's failure…the result of a God's arrogance, the continuation of Hero Goliath's story."
"You see, Alan, my father, he was strong… but he was much more the cunning type of individual, that bastard!" Armis's face held the same eerie amusement as he leaned back up, slowly walking down to a step below where Alan lay. His voice first became a low tone, "When he realized he was getting near the truth, he faked his death. Stupid, right?!" His tone returned to its normal sternness as he continued.
"That's what I felt when I read it, even anger. But oh man, was I wrong! He was one foresighted bastard!" Armis turned, enjoying each word of the story he spoke, describing his father's twisted, dreadful qualities and cunning nature with utmost satisfaction. His eyes were fixed straight ahead as though imagining each scene that his words weaved.
"He knew that if the death of a raider as big as him occurred near a floor, it was natural for other raiders to stay away from that floor for a while. Giving him enough time to gain distance on others." Armis didn't stop, slowly walking down, his descending steps echoing after his words. "While people, his teammates, me! outside were mourning his death, my father, that goal-driven man, pushed through whatever he faced. No monster, no nothing could stand before his mounting strength and otherworldly wits. Until… just like us, he too faced the gate of the 49th floor." Armis stopped on the last step, looking ahead, his voice lowering, his eyes taking in the view of the large entrance of the temple, transforming it into the scene of his memories.
With a pause that ended suddenly, Armis turned with a twisted smirk on his face, looking at Alan, who had managed to sit upright, taking support from the step above him. "BUT UNLIKE US!!! He didn't have any difficulties deciphering any word of that ancient language. I mean, would you believe it, Alan? The Holy Ancient Language of Pompeii… is nothing but one of many languages used in the outside world!" His exclamation, his voice, and his movements sometimes seemed straight up feigned, and sometimes so genuine that they resonated with his listeners—Alan, drowned in pain and agony, and King Roiran, drowning in mounting frustration, but both currently helpless before the dramatic storyteller, Armis, who continued.
"If I remember correctly, it was called something like, Archaic…? I'm not sure, but whatever it was, it was no match for my father's knowledge. And he moved through it easily, without fear, even understanding better than us the horror that lurked beyond!" Armis, with continued words, began climbing back up towards Alan. His words were as slow and eerie as his pace and stern expression. "So he did what we did too—slaying monsters, picking up orbs, and then moving forward again and again. But do you know what he didn't do, Alan?!"
He stopped and stooped inches before Alan's suffering face, undeterred by Armis's demonic visage. Alan's wheezes of unbearable pain mingled in the air, which only increased when Armis once again began to stab at the deep wounds of Alan, wounds he thought Armis had as well—marks of struggles they had faced together. But, just like this assumption, everything Alan thought he knew about Armis came to be nothing but lies, a facade of deception that even his experienced eyes couldn't discern.
"Suffered? He didn't cry even once; he didn't lose his life or face the struggles we did. And you know why? Because unlike us, unlike you, he never had to carry that unnecessary emotional burden, the dead weight we called friends and comrades!"
Alan wanted to cry, wanted to die. He had believed Armis was different. He had seen nightmares, lived through them, and survived them.
But right now, before this person he once considered a friend, a comrade in life and death, Alan felt betrayed. This person spat on him, on his emotions, on their bond, and on the sacrifices people made so both of them could get here. Or did they? Alan didn't know. He wasn't sure of anything right now. All he was sure of was the pain he felt hearing Armis's voice and the constant begging he did with his heart, body, and mind to either give him enough strength to strangle this demon or halt his breath, stop his heartbeat, and relieve him from this literal hellish nightmare.
"He didn't have them. All he had was his evolving power, his hunger for more and more knowledge and power alike, which sooner or later brought him here. But it turns out…" Armis's emotions changed once again. He leaned back, moving ahead, his voice exuding a pang of disappointment as he grabbed Alan by the neck, dragging him behind him as he continued.
"As much as it sounds good, it was one of the crucial things he missed. He soon came to know he needed that suffering, those sacrifices, that pain, that emotional torture that you went through, Alan!" A sudden ferocity burst out of Armis as he hurled the already-in-pain Alan a few steps. This sudden action gripped King Roiran's attention, making him the next target of Armis's ferocity, which came out with hurled insults on his pride, on his title. "And when he realized it, it was already too late. Because then he stood before this—a false, arrogant god!"
"YOU MISCREANT MORTAL!!!!" —-Swishhh!!!!—-"How dare you call your God false again and again! If I want, I can bring annihilation upon your worthless existence right n——"
"Yeah!! ——Thudd!!!—-But can you really?!!!" Even as King Roiran's mounting rage finally began bursting out, it still didn't affect Armis. His nonchalance quickly shifted from momentary grimness as he easily caught the book that King Roiran hurled at him. Armis continued his mocking, climbing up, step by step, word by word, moving near Alan again.
"And either way, whatever you say doesn't change the fact that you practically gave him the opportunity to make a fool out of you, 'King'!" Armis put a grim emphasis with his fear-instilling gaze that soon turned towards Alan, using him to continue his story, further pulling King Roiran's nerves.
"Let me tell you what happened, Alan, the reason for the sudden lash out from our almighty prideful God. Just like us, my father Goliath received the same welcome, the same feast, and the same truth about the false wish. And unfortunately for him, he was neither the foreign pure soul nor a perfect vessel that my liege here was waiting for. So what was going to happen, huh? The almighty God prepared to rip Goliath's soul and push it down the pot of lava until…"
As Armis neared Alan's almost lifeless body, he didn't care if Alan paid attention to his words or not, because they were not meant for him. They were refreshing a sealed memory inside King Roiran, who had become grim, glaring at Armis.
Armis clutched Alan's hair, raising his bloody, barely breathing face, showing him his twisted, sinister smirk before turning it towards King Roiran, who began to relive the memory Armis was bringing to life with his words.
"You see, Alan, my father was everything but prideful. He knew that to get everything he wanted, arrogance was more of an obstacle than a helpful element. So when push came to shove, seeing the instant death, seeing that once again the veil of false knowledge was ripped away from his eyes and the true knowledge he always craved stood right before him, he did what he saw fit." Armis remained in the bizarre position, one leg three steps down, and the other stretched to where Alan sat writhing in his grip. His expression betrayed the described emotions his words spoke, maintaining his twisted smile with mocking nonchalance as he continued.
"He grovelled, he cried, he begged for mercy for his life, but he knew that wasn't going to be enough. He had one last trick in his mind—a bargaining chip, the one thing this GOD of ours gives us himself!! His life story, a story of his burning vengeance and the boredom that followed it. And that is what my father played upon. He bet his life. When he presented him with knowledge, culture, and stories from the outside—a place ironically even our king was unaware of—he recalled some, he even made up some. But whatever he did, he managed to win over this 'Holiness' of ours." Armis stood up, pulling Alan's barely moving body along with him as he continued, his voice now holding a mocking pride, not on King Roiran, but on Goliath.
"My father offered his servitude, his vast knowledge of the outside world, in return for his life."
With another burst of lunacy, Armis's actions struck differently to his two listeners. Alan screamed in pain as Armis suddenly and violently moved his body like a rag doll, emphasizing his bellowing mockery and insults. King Roiran felt the impact inside his mind. The imposing, threatening presence he had maintained for centuries crumbled apart, reduced to a joke by the demonic man before him—the descendant of his greatest mistake, a fact Armis reveled in elaborating.
"And THE FOOL!!!! He agreed to give a nest to a snake!!!!" Armis began ascending towards King Roiran, maintaining the loud, mocking tone of his words and spitting verbal daggers at the shivering, angered King.
"And that is what he got. While serving him, telling him stories of the unknown and the outside, telling him about the fascinating world and the valuable knowledge beyond Pompeii, my father managed to have him spill this 'Plan' that he just revealed to us. My father even offered to help him if he could tell him more about the workings of the divine and dark that this King of ours does business in." A chuckle, lowering his tone but not his pace, continued with mocking, dramatic nonchalance.
"And that is when it began—with an idea, another bargaining chip to get more knowledge out of the King of So-called 'Pride'…" Armis rolled his eyes, spitting out his disgust and disappointment at King Roiran.
"More like blind arrogance to me."
Now Armis's mocking nonchalance and dramatic flair focused entirely on King Roiran, as he dragged Alan's body along with him. Pauses and smirks punctuated his story as he climbed back the stairs.
"Well, whatever it was, it played in my father's hand like a puppet. While my father weaved a story about a raider, even stronger than him, who was born in Pompeii and was surely to reach this place, I am heavily assuming that," Armis halted on a step, his face flushing with a teasing, prideful look that he adored on his majestic appearance—or at least according to him, because he didn't care about anything else as he continued, "He fooled you with made-up stories related to me. And again!!!" Armis exclaimed, resuming his ascent with nonchalant mockery.
"He managed to pull the wool over your eyes but... this was not the only thing he managed. What he also managed was to find a loophole in how that prophecy of that dark being works." Armis stopped again, this time not to add dramatic flair with expression, but to speak. "My Great Prideful King, stop me where I, or rather where my father, was wrong, okay?
"So these… wait a minute... —-blehggghahhahahahgeehhh!!!!—-"
Suddenly, he betrayed all the mockery, the flair, the emotions, as for a moment he revealed the demon he had truly become. With a revolting and bizarre movement, he raised his head, opening his mouth that had spoken the endearing tale, now showing true disgust.
His mouth expanded bizarrely before he shoved his hand inside, retching and spitting, puking out one by one all the six Lord Orbs he had been storing in a place not even the proclaimed king of evil could have guessed.
King Roiran squinted his eyes in disgust, turning away his gaze. He had seen many things in his reign, mortal or hell—there was gore, there were atrocities beyond comprehension—but none as revolting as seeing a demonic man puking out six hand-sized orbs from his mouth, all with minimal effort. It even filled Alan with revolting disgust, who had seen something like that before, though not much reaction could appear on his bloody visage. Armis held those spit-draped, gleaming orbs in his one hand, then apologised nonchalantly towards King Roiran, with spit dripping from each corner of his bizarre mouth.
"Ah, sorry for the scene." And just like that, with no reaction even to his own grotesqueness, Armis continued his ascent with his words.
"Now again, these orbs are actually the souls of those beasts, right? Those judges of sins? Your disgusting-looking relatives?" King Roiran could not reply to Armis's question. He didn't want to reply because neither did he want to admit any word of Armis, true or not, nor did he like seeing his sinister, disgusting visage now. But despite his emotion and silence, which Armis took as an affirmation of his query, he continued,
"And that is also how you managed to revive them again after my father had slain them? And these can be found in any Pompeiian if they were to get as powerful as me?"
Suddenly, King Roiran's face began to go pale as Armis spoke. His own emotions started playing tricks on him—disgust at Armis's presence shifted to a growing attention to his words. Whether what Armis said was true or not, the ominous tone made it clear that Armis was about to reveal the recipe for his doom, and it began to ring in the thick, tense air that surrounded them.
"So according to that dark entity, or its prophecy, when a soul like Alan would mix into that pot of dark souls, it would result in a soul orb so powerful that it could challenge the gods, right?"
"And then you were supposed to merge it with your soul orb to get that power, right? But..." The grimness, hollow shock, and stunning realization, the horror clutching at his heart—even if not visible, Armis knew these were the things King Roiran felt. Armis mocked his silence, the dread, the explosion of King Roiran's very presence, the sound of it lingering inside him, only audible to Armis who continued.
"What, no?! You're not going to follow along?" he joked, savoring the eerie silence. Armis turned his smirking gaze towards Alan, speaking in feigned innocence to the clinging-to-life, wishing-for-death Alan.
"Okay, don't worry, Alan. Your friend is here to tell you everything!"
"You see, Alan," every word that came out of Armis's mouth next began painting a vivid, dreadful picture—not in Armis's mind, but in King Roiran's heart. These thoughts were something he had never told anyone, not even Goliath. But for the first time in his centuries-long life, he met two such cunning and manipulative individuals who, just like him, needed no powers or abilities to read someone's thoughts or mind. Just like him, a look, a few words, and a moment of time were enough for them to peek into the soul of anyone they wanted. And what Armis spoke of now was King Roiran's very soul.
"With time, our great King's pride spoke doubt into his heart—that maybe, just maybe, he was also a pawn in this grand scheme of things, and maybe that dark entity was using him to achieve that power for itself." Eerie as his words were, such was his ascent and the expression he held on his face.
"So our king here devised a plan, just as he told us that he was afraid the power he was thriving and waiting for was never meant for him, because he did become more and more powerful, until it stopped."
"No longer could he gain power from the essence of souls, and just like he feared, his body reached its limit, solidifying his suspicions even more!"
Not Armis's exclamations or dramatic movements reached him; King Roiran heard nothing, saw nothing. Armis had managed to drown him in apprehension, a fear that King Roiran himself never knew existed within his dark heart. But it was there, rising more and more with Armis's words.
"He began searching for a vessel stronger and more limitless than himself. That's when he stumbled upon the theory of the Pompeiian soul and started those hearsays. And you know what my father discovered? But first, let me tell you how. As I said, my father never had pride—arrogance, I mean—so he wasn't blind to the things that were always before him. He saw there was a loophole in your theory, which you wouldn't believe, but that bastard managed to test out!"
The fear of the unknown crept in. Until now, most of what Armis spoke of was somewhat within King Roiran's knowledge. He knew the truth of it, the extent of it. No matter how much he denied it, he was aware of its existence but had chosen to ignore it because, as Armis said, it never posed a threat to his pride, his power, his title.
But from this point, what Armis spoke of was unknown to him, a reality he was unaware of. If he had known, why would it fill him with such dread, an unknown horror, crawling apprehension? There was a reason why Armis knew all this, why he felt no fear of him, why he was savoring King Roiran's writhing emotions. Because now Armis actually spoke of his doom—the recipe for King Roiran's downfall.
"You see, according to him, you never needed any special vessels to begin with. You never saw the value in these orbs, right?" Armis said, showing off the gleaming orbs once again with his eerie smirk, mocking King Roiran's ignorance and self-destructive arrogance.
"Bet you never even knew how they worked? But he did. He found out. He used your pride against you. He used those grotesque relatives of yours against you, and they played along very easily, according to him. Because they weren't happy with you at all; they were bound here against their will. So he did what he was best at—he used his wits, lies, lots of lies, and false hopes to get them to teach him how their power works. And fortunately for him, they actually knew."
Armis paused on one step, placing one knee forward, his elbow resting on it, and his head cradled in his palm, gleefully savoring the dread, frustration, and confusion etched on King Roiran's face.
"Can you believe it? While you were shut in here plotting your revenge, enjoying the knowledge and entertainment of the outside world, the guy was out there researching!" Armis widened his eyes, feigning mock amazement and pride in his father. "I'm beginning to think my father should have been a scholar rather than a warrior."
"But whatever, as I said," Armis continued, taking a long step upward, his mocking presence inching closer to the top. "He discovered that all that waiting and patience was unnecessary. Turns out these orbs have special abilities that can create a vessel suited to accommodate the abilities and all the power of their respective judge and sin! So he thought, what would happen if we were to combine and merge with all these orbs, along with yours?"
Armis exclaimed, leaning forward and stretching his wide-eyed gaze toward King Roiran, mocking him in every way he could. "Put them inside a very strong raider like me, and then act upon the plan you had devised?" With a dramatic flourish to his rhetorical question, Armis's pace grew deliberate, each step heavy with intention. He made sure each dagger-like question echoed with the sound of his profound steps.
"Sounds pretty shocking, right?"
——-Stomp!!!——-
"Like it was always, always in front of you, yet you were never able to notice it?"
——-Stomp!!!——-
"Hurts, stings, burns even the veins of a 'GOD,' right?"
——-Stomp!!!——-
Suddenly, he stopped, his tone curling with childish disappointment as he jested with a mock attempt at a sad face. "But hey, then again, even after knowing all this, there was no point for him, right? If he were to slay all of them, you would know. And it's not like he ever stood a chance before you, right…?"
And then, as suddenly as it had come, his mockery gave way to a steady, malicious calm. Behind him, Alan's whispering groans and limp body added to the tension.
"But then he remembered… Call it selfishness or feelings, a fatherly love that had nestled inside his heart when he weaved stories about me for you, the old man…" For a moment, Armis imagined his father's profound visage. Inaccurate as it might have been, it managed to elicit a proud smile before he continued. "He wagered his own life, his discovery—the one chance to end your reign—on a boy. A boy who believed his father was dead."
Armis took a deep breath, slipping back into his stern demeanor. "But that didn't stop him. He knew what had to be done. So he did more and more research and found out that his theory lacked something—something human." Another breath, another step brought a profound wonderment to his words.
"Because soon he discovered that even if his plan were to work, there were chances that the souls of your relatives, those demons, would overpower my soul and I would end up as one of your minions. But…"
A pause, a dreadful pause, which further crumbled King Roiran's already shattered stature. Dread filled his shivering form, fury flamed within his burning body, and his mind, already sinking, drowned in even deeper doubt and pain.
Now, like Alan, King Roiran wished to end this nightmare. But unlike Alan, he didn't want death for himself. He wanted a gruesome, chaotic, shredding, horrific death for Armis, which remained delayed as Armis completed his wonderment with another theory of his father—another step in the recipe of King Roiran's long-planned doom.
"What if we were to replace those souls? What if we were to free them and replace them with weaker souls, because the power was in the orbs, not in the souls—they were just carriers. And again, the bastard found out how to do that!" Armis exclaimed with eerie joy and pride before returning to mocking rhetorical nonchalance, his slow, echoing steps amplifying his words. "Sounds confusing, right? It did to me too. Took me a long time to understand, so bear with me."
"According to my father, when a soul that corresponds with the sin that one of the King's relatives judges, it does not come down to that pot," Armis pointed eagerly toward the bubbling pot of lava behind the enraged King Roiran. "Nope, only its dark part comes here. While its essence gets sucked inside the Lord or Soul Orb of that judge, just like how it works with Purgarito, remember, Alan?"
He lifted Alan's head, posing the rhetorical question, receiving only groaning silence, then returned to his explanation. "But if we were to slay that judge right after it has sucked a soul, it leaves its original soul weakened. And the soul or souls that were sucked inside, if they were of strong essence, just like our friends…"
At this, Alan's body twitched slightly, whether in pain or anger, but it only fed Armis's amusement as he continued. "They become the new carrier of the orb's power. Don't ask me how it works, but I can assure you, it does."
And this time, he didn't lower Alan. He had poked, prodded, and burned every shred of King Roiran's pride, his stature, his presence, with his mockery, imitation, and feigned emotions. But Armis also made sure Alan was not spared the same agony. He kept his attention on Alan, inflicting equal frustration and pain with his stabbing words, which ignited some non-existent strength in Alan. This strength showed after he heard Armis's grim, tight, whispering yet loud and mocking words.
"So in essence, Alan, look at me. C'mon, look at me!" Armis yelled, grabbing Alan's chin and forcing his eyes open. Alan's eyes, crimson with blood and burning anger, met Armis's gaze. The horrific, grim realization had already dawned upon Alan's broken mind before Armis spoke.
"I know you've realized it by now. Look at these, damn it!" Armis shoved the Lord Orbs into Alan's bloodied face mercilessly. His voice began to catch the lunacy that first appeared in his actions, then in his face, and finally in his words.
"Yes, yes, YES! You are right! Even if we were to get some kind of wish here, if my father's theory stands correct—and it does, I assure you—this new body, this power has many perks." Armis momentarily shifted into a mocking nonchalance before returning with even more twisted features on his face and voice. Soon, his demeanor turned into piercing, lunatic laughter.
"So our friends were never going to get revived! Ha ha ha! Ha ah ahaha!"