Dusk had fallen, and the blood-red sun hung at the edge of the sky, incessantly releasing the last of today's sunlight, casting a layer of reddish-gold shell upon the buildings of Lonely City.
Before the sun completely sets, if your Magician, Mr., has not met with me, then you will be destroyed along with this building.
The Demon's words still echoed in the ears of every hostage in the hall, but as the patch of sunlight by the windows grew dimmer, a thick sense of despair so potent it seemed almost tangible sprouted within their hearts.
Why isn't Clo dead?
Why hasn't the Magician come?
Why me?
Why?
Why…
At this critical moment of life and death, countless questions involuntarily bloomed deep within the hostages' minds, and the very culprit that had planted these seeds of query...
was feeling quite pleased at the moment.
