"What the hell?" Deerheart muttered before his brain could even register what was happening.
The stunning young man he had killed was now rising to his feet weightlessly, as if subtly levitating.
He had been dead barely a minute ago, but now he stood on his own legs, as though nothing in existence could touch him.
His already handsome face seemed to shine even more, his flawless alabaster skin contrasting perfectly with his pale-lilac hair and matching eyes. Even the barely visible black star within his pupils had now almost overtaken his irises completely.
Deerheart couldn't grasp what exactly was going on, but one thing echoed in his mind:
If he didn't die once, then he just had to kill him again.
"Die, you stubborn roach." Deerheart widened his stance, placing his hands atop each other.
'Damn it, I can't believe a brat pushed me this far.' At that very moment, Deerheart wasn't in his right mind — and he knew it, but there was nothing else he could do except fight.
