"York, everyone is a child of God, and they all deserve God's grace."
The familiar voice sounded by his ear, awakening York's sleeping will. He, like a newborn baby, tried to reach out and grasp that voice in the hazy, blurred light.
"Don't forget your original intentions, don't forget our nature."
The voice gradually faded away, and York became somewhat panicked. He wanted to grasp something, but all he held in his hand was emptiness.
At the same time, his blurred will gradually woke up, and the pervasive pain slowly enveloped him, replacing the radiance with a writhing and turbid darkness. It reached out countless arms, tightly gripping York's body, dragging him into the Abyss.
"Ha..."
York suddenly opened his eyes; the fear brought by the nightmare hadn't dissipated yet. The intense pain from his body was like a sharp knife, almost slicing through York's sanity.
