This world is really a paradise for madmen.
The corrupted gods are imprisoned here and can be viewed like exhibits.
How ironic, isn't it?
They were once at the top, but now they are prisoners.
And I can rob them of everything.
In the dream, in the pure white ward, a voice sounded: "Welcome to the prison, new resident."
"Resident?" Another voice said mockingly, "I'm not here to support the elderly."
This is not a sanatorium.
But my hunting ground.
