Gods on thrones, ghosts in sewers.
How absurd, how ridiculous, and what a... Despairing contrast.
Zero swallowed the last mouthful of the nutritious ointment that smelled of rust, flattened the empty tube, and threw it into the sewage in the corner. In the darkness, he grinned silently, making an arc that was without any warmth and almost self-deprecating. In that arc, there was no sorrow, no reluctance, only a numbness that was sharpened to an extremely cold level by reality, and deep under this numbness, a trace of... Weak persistence for survival instinct that even he himself had almost forgotten.
