A Wish to Grab Happiness

- It was a theatrical sight created.

As he sat his body whimpering every time he breathed one, Phyllos-Treit spit, drinking. When the throat moves, the pain runs on the limbs again. But as if she'd forgotten that, she just sees the sight in front of her. There were two swinging shadows.

One, the demonic nature of explosive flames. Was demonization turning into people, or did people become demonized? That's none other than the one once named Roseau.

If demonization waves up one hand, that's all it takes to blow the heat all around you. It is far from the flames of nature, nor is it wielded in surgery. It is not built for such a person to use.

They are a threat that is unleashed just to devour a person's life. Something like that rips the darkness at night every time I gently open my hands. Like trying to scorch the night itself.

At the same time, from the demonic fingertips, the fiery snake had fangs. Snakes run through the universe showing fierce fangs as they scatter fire powder. It's as if the flame itself is willful. A few of them fall out of Roseau's palm.

Impossible. I don't remember hearing about magic or magic, creating willed demons, etc. It is the realm of mythology and mythology that makes such a thing possible. Is that what that demonization is all about?

Phyllos-Treit opens his eyelids as he paralyzes his white eyes. Thus, instead of his immobile lips, he inherited the word in his chest.

- So, what the hell is that relative to the existence of that myth?

Purple light runs with green shadows. A slaughter released after eating up the sky tore the jaw of the flaming serpent as it was.

Once, twice, three degrees. Whenever a ripple of flames descends on him, he shakes up the purple electric sword and jumps up the snake's neck and jaw. In its eyes, it looked like Philose-Treit, just as Roseau had the same fever.

Bad man, Rugis. That's the name of the person who's relative to demonization, and who keeps waving the blade.

Philose-Trait no longer knows what he sees. Even a wave of doubt swings in the skull.

Himself, who was just waiting to die in prison until earlier, was taken by that vice, and now he is forced to continue to show this unreal play.

I don't know why. The truth is that I am dead with my feet paid by the devil, and that makes me feel like I'm dreaming like this. That, too, is a bad dream for a long time.

But only the abominable pain that struck her was telling her that this was not theatre or anything, but reality. Phyllos-Treit trembles at his fingertips, remembering the feeling of white eyes being tightened. Behind that gut was just remorse.

How could I not try to get away from that hand around more rampantly while I was being held by that vice? There is enough humiliation for such a selfish man to do as he pleases. What have I done to my heart?

One can also say that a man named Philos-Trait is proud everywhere and, in a way, a man imprisoned by that pride. I can't take anything out of control or behavior. That's why I couldn't even imitate unnecessarily rambling around.

Being a ruler tightens Philose-Trait everywhere. However, she is at the time of her death, and she will not abandon it. Because the oath she made when she put her stepfamily in her hand. How can we do that, such as throw it away?

So she still can't even hate Roseau for throwing herself at the whipping house. Whatever the emotions of good and evil, in the essential part, she is lacking a ruler anywhere. There is no such thing as hatred toward the citizens.

But. That vice, Rugis is not a citizen.

That, too, is supposed to be a hateful enemy. Hate and be a good enemy. When I came to think of it, Philose-Trait's lips swayed in distortion.

Yeah, but that's the enemy. Hate, exist. That's why she decided to fully, think - oh, how hateful. My chest burns. I want you to tighten that neck. A broken white eye is about to erupt heat.

The sword trident, which was playing in front of him, is about to end.

Whether Roseau handled flaming snakes and fire columns, they were all inhibited by purple electricity. All I'm saying is that the way Rugis waves is like he knows how to whisk a flame. That sword is made to behave as if it once fought out the same existence.

The sword crushes the flames that burn, the sight of which was looming right there. Rugis' hands are swung away by the crosshairs.

- That's what they thought, moments. The purple that I've been drawing is slightly, blurry. In Philose-Trait's sight, he could see Rugis with his eyes open.

What happened? I can't tell from the side. For a moment, though, he did stop. Will the demonic serpents miss that gap?

The eyelids, instantly. The next moment Philose-Trait opens his eyes, what comes into sight is eaten by a flaming serpent on its right arm, the figure of Rugis.

My heart, it's hot.

◇ ◆ ◇ ◆

"- Huh!?

My right arm is jumped from the treasure sword. There were signs of flaming fangs eating into the flesh. That is no longer beyond the line of hot, painful. The feeling of something being lost from your body and decaying. My feet stepped on the spot.

Not to miss the meantime, the serpent, devoured by his right arm, spread his jaw from the ground up. I guess it's an abdominal pile, even with my arms pulled as-is.

Tasteless. Forced to drive hips and wave left arm. That's how he let the snake eat the treasure sword in the momentum of deciding on each right arm as it was. The heat and sharp pain crush my right arm at the same time.

At the earliest moments, the flaming serpent set a spark to raise its voice, scattering its body at night.

Seeing and relieving his liberated right arm, but in pain and heat, he roughs his breathing. He was eating up his back teeth, kicking the roof and reflexively distancing himself from Roseau.

My eyes harden. Your right arm is powerless. I probably won't be able to use it very soon. There are limits to what you can do to keep them out of the way.

But this is not the one that's at stake.

I felt so much heat from outside my right arm that I thought the fangs of a flaming snake were easy. The bitten back teeth deviate, twitch, and sound distorted.

- My heart is giving me a fever. That's about to burn now.

I don't know. The whimper leaks. So much so that the mouth or the exhaled breath no longer seems to be the flame itself.

I feel like my throat is burned and my lungs rot. This feeling, trying to be eaten and torn from the inside, not from the outside of the body. I desperately fed my legs to the roof, which was about to collapse.

What the hell is this? What happened?

"It took a long time to ignite. Is your body protected by something, my enemy?"

Sticky, says Roseau as he taps the red brick. I could see him approaching this side as he dwelt in it a flaming flame. No longer only unnecessary, such as a flaming serpent, but without waving his arms, he is moving his legs forward.

I honestly don't know what's going on. But the only thing that seems certain is that this fever is a trick prepared by Roseau's guy. Then I'll have to kill that one first. With his left arm, which was safe, he held the sword firmly.

Moments, the feeling that the body is burned out boils from the inside out. I opened my eyes.

"That fever no longer belongs to me, it belongs to you, Rugis-Vrilligant"

Like whining, says Roseau. He took over the words as if he were spitting out.

"As long as a person is a person, there will be hatred in their breasts, there will be envy for someone. That is flame. Flames will surely burn people down."

Again, the flames that make up Roseau, they erupt and burn. As always, only those eyes glowed brilliantly, as thirsty for something.

"My enemies. You and I will be the same, then let's burn everything down. Anyway, there's too much fuel for hatred in this world."

At the same time as that word, my heart burns, burns. Vision, blurred.