Zackey was trembling, his body shivering as though every bone wanted to break free. Yet, in that trembling, he was laughing too — a laugh soaked in madness. His pale face stretched unnaturally wide, twisted like a man suffering from a deep psychological defect. Saliva dripped endlessly from his mouth, splattering on the black floor like a fountain that would never dry. His half-naked body leaned forward, his posture bent in grotesque submission, as though his very existence was nothing but worship of Lord Baital.