***
“Wretches, the lot of them,” Edgar muttered as he walked across the yard, observing the hundreds of cold-bloods who were now being guarded while they waited for their executions. “Miserable, dirt-eating scum...”
“A lot has happened while you were being held here,” Cassandra replied. “In fact, I still don't understand why they didn't just kill you.”
“He wanted to see how long he could torture me but still keep me alive,” Edgar replied, watching the crowd for any hint of Quillian's presence. “He saw it as a test, and I saw it as a test to defy him. He drove me over the edge of sanity many times, but I kept coming back because I knew that one day I'd have this chance. The legends always said that no warm-blood had ever escaped after being captured by the cold-bloods, but somehow, deep down, I knew that I'd get this chance.”
“You seem different, Edgar. Something has changed in your soul.”
“Souls can't change,” he said firmly.
“Yours has. You've become darker, harsher... There's cruelty in your voice.”
“Then it must have always been there,” he replied. “It must have been hidden, and now it has a chance to come out. Perhaps this is who I was always meant to be.”
“Let's get you some clothes,” Cassandra implored, “and some food, and then we can think about finding a place to hide before Patrick puts his plan into action. A counter-offensive has been launched by the Deviant Ridge, but that's just going to be one final battle before the prophecy is invoked. It's a distraction, to make them think that we're getting desperate, but really Patrick is already at work. Bowie already has some ideas -”
“Go with him, then,” Edgar replied. “I'm not leaving until I've found Quillian.”
“Whoever this Quillian person is, he's probably long gone. Thousands of cold-bloods have already fled.”
“He wouldn't flee. I can feel it, he's still here. I swear, I'm going to make him feel what I felt. Every moment of pain, every -”
“Stop!” Cassandra said suddenly, stepping in front of him. “Do you realize who you're starting to sound like?”
“Get out of my way.”
“Don't let the war do this to you,” she continued. “I can't even imagine the pain you've gone through over the past few months, but please, try to find a way through the chaos. Don't let the war into your soul, Edgar. You're not the kind of man who goes looking for revenge. The war is coming to an end, and you have to accept that!”
“You think you can lecture me and tell me what kind of person I am?”
“I've seen into your soul.”
“And obviously you missed part of it,” he replied. “I don't care how many cold-bloods have died today. A hundred, a million, it means nothing to me. Pile their bodies up by the door and I won't even glance at them as I walk out of this place. But Quillian is mine. He thought he could do whatever the hell he wanted with me, and now it's my turn to show him that he was wrong. If he's not here, I'll go and find him, even if I have to search forever.”
“We don't have forever,” she continued, pulling his arm in an attempt to get him to follow her. “We have to leave!”
“As soon as -”
Before he could finish, Edgar turned and looked toward the far end of the yard, where a pile of bodies had been left to rot. His senses were jumping and kicking in his chest, and he could feel himself being drawn toward the pile. Hurrying away from Cassandra, he climbed naked over the sea of corpses until finally he spotted Quillian's torn and bloodied body half-crushed by the weight of a hundred other cold-bloods.
“It's me!” Edgar shouted, pulling him free from the pile and throwing him down onto the ground. “Look at me! I'm free! I've come for you!”
He waited for Quillian to respond, but the cold-blood's lifeless eyes merely stared up at the sky.
“Answer me!” he continued, shaking the corpse's shoulders.
“He's dead, Edgar,” Cassandra said after a moment, standing nearby. “Look at him. His chest is almost completely destroyed.”
“He's not dead,” Edgar replied, desperately searching for some hint of life. “He can't be dead. I still have to do to him what he did to me. I have to show him that I can torture his soul.”
“It's too late. Let's go.”
“No!” Edgar shouted, lifting Quillian's lifeless body up. “You can hear me, can't you?” he sneered. “You don't get to escape like this. You have to stay and feel the pain I bring to you! You taught me, and now it's my turn!”
“Edgar -”
“Leave us!” he snarled, before pulling Quillian's corpse across the yard.
“You're losing your mind,” Cassandra continued, hurrying after him. “We have to go and find Bowie and the others, and then we have to get to safety before Patrick initiates the prophecy! Seppho is already burning again!”
“This wretch is mine,” Edgar replied, hauling Quillian into the torture chamber and tossing his body down, before grabbing the Bloody Halo and attaching it to the corpse's head. “I'm going to cause him so much pain, his soul will be forced to come back to his body. If he thinks death is enough of a safe haven, he's going to learn the hard way that there's no way to escape from me, and then I'm going to go to the Deviant Ridge and fight until I -”
“Edgar -”
“I will fight until there is no-one left to fight, and then I will find someone else to kill! I will bring this wretch back to life just so I can kill him again!”
“He's gone, Edgar.”
“He has to suffer!” he screamed, with tears of frustration in his eyes. “After everything he did to me, he has to know what it's like to feel true pain! I have to torture him for a thousand years, and that's only the beginning!”
“Please -”
“Just leave us here!” he continued, turning the handle on the side of the Bloody Halo and starting to crush Quillian's head. “Let me do this! He deserves more pain than anyone has ever experienced in the history of the seven worlds!” He stared at Quillian's dead face, and he could feel a new sense of rage slowly building through his body. “I don't care how long it takes,” he muttered darkly, “but I will make him suffer.”