Crowley thought he couldn’t care less. He didn’t know what this creature was, but he just couldn’t care less anymore, about anything.
The man opened his mouth. In it, a pair of fangs was prominent. Those fangs sunk into his neck. He felt as if his life was being sucked out noisily from within him. For some reason, there was something like immense pleasure in having life sucked out of him, in feeling death approach.
“Ah, ah…” his voice leaked out by itself. His pupils dilated.
The sky and the sun looked so terribly dazzling - from this place drenched in blood. And as if it wasn’t enough, the sky above this spot where his comrades had been killed just when he had thought they had managed to survive was so blue and beautiful…
“…Aah, I know. This is a dream.”
It was too ridiculous not to be, Crowley mused. So it must have been a dream. A monster like this couldn’t possibly exit, after all.
In reality, they lost and were killed on that battlefield. And this was a dream he ended up seeing on the verge of dying.
No, could this be a dream that he had because he was too scared to go to that war? A nightmare he saw after partying with everyone and drinking too much in that dining hall. If it was, then he wanted to wake up from it soon.
And once he did, Victor would say something ridiculous to him again. And Gustavo would be his usual sourpuss self, and Rosso, Commander Alfred, and the rest of his comrades would laugh like usual.
Ahh, how nice would it be if it was true. How much he wanted it to be true.