𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐀 Manjiro Sano

Chapter 13

Crimson. Crimson is what lingered and proceeded to coat the entire abandoned room's surrounding. The location was depicted hauntingly scary, with an embedded cracked and soiled walls looming, strewn rubbish and dispersed shattered items such as mirrors and boards adorning the floor that appeared to be close to collapsing. This eerily spooky place they settled upon could be described by an oblivious human who happened to walk by, as something that would send shiver coursing down the contour of their spine and something that wouldn't ignite their impalpable interest: it could be mistaken haunted, however, the place was greatly valued by the notorious silhouetted individuals who view the place as the perfect spot to carry out their illegal activity--that is, presently taking pleasure watching the man they held captivated undergone ruthless torture their leader had bestowed.

Manjiro stood in a dimly lighted room, the steamy and chilly mood crept in through the spaces in his clothing. His charcoal eyes were fixated downward, a satisfactory facade was established, and can be written crystal clear. The figure of the man who had endured an unbearable day filtered with torture, laid lifeless on the floor: his entire physique was painted by nasty vermillion, ranging from dry to freshly inflicted, and by wicked bruises, that depicted the days of despair he had taken. A pool of blood was flooding out through the holes implanted by a bullet into the man's flesh; his mortality has been assessed.

Only if the mysterious man hadn't taken something greatly valued by Manjiro would Manjiro have let the man escape. Too late, however, the error inflicted could not be atoned by simply asking for forgiveness.

HAHA...

Hysterical laughter erupted out of his throat, beaming throughout the barricaded area, and bouncing on the rooted walls.  Manjiro rake his hands harshly upward through his face, interweaving his lean fingers with his bleached strand as he tilted his head, facing and staring at the lofty, shadowy ceilings. His baritone resounded a shred of insanity, showing his ivories in delight, and curling his lips into a deranged smirk.

❝Now that the culprit has died, will she smile and laugh for me again?❞