Pain wracked every inch of his body as he tried to connect with the Innocence (wings were they his he wasn’t an angel) He could feel the pain flow from his hands to every part of his body as red life squirted out of newly made holes (blood was always covering him, always splatted those around him, his unworthy monster blood). He didn’t scream in pain, he was too stubborn, but he cursed (them the Innocence the pain him everyone was at fault everyone was evil pain pain pain pain pain) loudly, and then—a slight oblivion. When he opened his eyes, he didn’t see the Innocence, the dark room, the people in cloaks surrounding him, but someone who didn’t recognise on top of him. He blinked, almost feeling the blood that should have coated him but recognising there wasn’t any blood on him as well. His thoughts were lethargic, his brain tried to figure out what had happened. He must have had another waking dream (he was breaking breaking breaking breaking breaking there were more lotus every day).