Despair

"Damn it!" Sollivan cursed and quickly gave orders to Noctis, who had previously fled and hidden behind the stone gate. Within seconds, the dust cloud settled, revealing the human figure more clearly—it was Sven, or rather, what remained of him. His left arm had been severed, and what was left of it had turned to charred flesh. His hair and face were burned, his skin peeling away. His clothes had fused with his flesh, becoming part of him. Yet his right hand was relatively intact, and his lower body hadn't suffered severe damage. Around him lay several charred and brutally torn corpses.

Sven looked at Sollivan with an unreadable expression—his facial features were so distorted he could no longer form normal expressions. He opened his mouth and exhaled a breath of black smoke, then raised his uninjured hand and pointed at Sollivan with bloodshot eyes leaking blood.

"You."