Marcel began to struggle with unprecedented madness!
"Aaaaaah——!!!"
His body, as if struck by lightning, tensed into an arch.
Every muscle in his body was screaming, exploding with all its power!
"Hng aah!!"
Marcel threw his head back, the veins and blood vessels on his neck bulging and knotting terrifyingly, almost to the point of bursting!
The alloy shackles fixed to the armrests of the interrogation chair were embedded deep into his wrists.
Accompanied by the teeth-grinding "creak" and the muffled sound of flesh being torn apart—
The metal edges of the shackles rubbed against the bones of his wrists, sparking faint flashes!
Fresh blood did not ooze out; it sprayed, staining the grey-white floor red.
But Marcel could not feel the pain.
Or rather, it was merely the excruciating pain of flesh being torn.
Compared to the impending loss of Vigneire, the loss of his only meaning for living—
It was not worth mentioning at all!
As Marcel struggled, the chains at his ankles began to dig deep into his flesh; because of the angle, the sharp metal edges even sliced through ligaments and wedged into the gaps of his hard ankle bones!
Every frantic kick Marcel made was accompanied by the bone-chilling "clack" of bone rubbing against metal, and more blood gushing out.
His entire weight was applied to those shackles embedded deep into his bones!
The interrogation chair groaned under the unbearable weight, the bolts fixed to the ground loosening slightly.
From a distance, Marcel looked like a monster nailed to a rack by several red-hot iron nails, using his broken body to perform a bloody, desperate, and frenzied movement.
"Let me go! Let me go!"
"That is Vigneire! It is Vigneire!"
"King! I curse you!"
"I will kill you! I will dissolve you a thousand times! Ten thousand times!!"
"Give him back to me! I will agree to anything!"
"My money, my trading company, my life, my soul!"
"I will give you everything! I will give you everything!"
Roaring, cursing, begging, weeping...
Marcel was incoherent, all the most extreme human emotions pouring out of him at this moment.
His face was twisted and deformed from extreme exertion, his eyes bloodshot, staring fixedly at King's hand, at that small bottle.
Absolutely not! He must not let him DMG Vigneire!
That was the last "clean" place in his dirty soul!
King seemed not to hear the hellish scene behind him.
He lowered his head, carefully examining the small glass bottle in his hand.
The bottle was cold; the liquid inside, Vigneire's remaining consciousness, sensed the changes in the outside world and rippled slightly, creating a circle of waves.
"You are also in pain, aren't you."
King whispered gently to the bottle:
"Trapped in such a 'cage,' watching him commit such vicious sins in the name of loving you, yet unable to stop it, and unable to rest in peace."
After speaking, King did not hesitate any longer.
He pressed his thumb against the edge of the stopper, gave it a gentle twist, and pulled it upward.
The movement was gentle, steady, and carried a sense of ritual.
"Pop."
A soft sound.
The stopper left the mouth of the bottle.
At the very moment the stopper was removed—
"No——!!!"
Marcel let out a terrifying shriek that surpassed the limits of human vocal cords!
King ignored him, instead gently tilting the mouth of the bottle, letting the liquid carrying Vigneire's consciousness slowly flow into the ordinary tap water.
The two streams of water met.
A miraculous, or rather, heartbreaking scene occurred.
The liquid representing Vigneire's remaining consciousness, upon contacting the ordinary water, was not washed away, or rather, contaminated.
On the contrary, it seemed to be injected with some kind of vitality, brightening slightly.
In the water, the phantom of the sleeping Damselette's face became clear for a brief moment.
He gently opened his eyes.
The gaze pierced through the water, passed over King, and landed on Marcel, who was struggling frantically in the distance and had become a bloody mess.
There was no love, no resentment, and not even blame in that gaze.
There was only a bottomless sadness and a hint of relief that had finally arrived.
He seemed to be saying: "Enough, Vacher, stop."
Then, he turned around without hesitation, and following the rushing water, slipped lightly into the sink drain and disappeared.
He went to the place where he should go—
Returning to the most primitive and pure water cycle of Teyvat, to be with the myriad droplets.
No more constraints, no more pain, and no more connection to the Sinner, "Vacher" or "Marcel."
Rest in peace.
King allowed Vigneire to find true peace.
"Vi... Vigneire..."
All of Marcel's struggles, roars, and strength were completely drained at this moment.
He froze there, like a weathered stone statue, with only large, murky tears of blood rolling silently from his eye sockets.
He saw it.
He saw Vigneire's final gaze.
That was not the understanding and acceptance he had fantasized about in countless nightmares over the past seventeen years.
That was relief.
"Haha... Hahaha..."
Marcel suddenly laughed.
He no longer struggled, slumped on the interrogation chair, head tilted back, looking at the pale ceiling, his eyes unfocused, muttering in his mouth:
"It's gone, all gone."
"Vigneire... My Vigneire..."
"I killed so many people... did so many things..."
"So it turns out... it was all for nothing..."
"Haha... Hahaha..."
His laughter grew quieter and quieter, eventually turning into soft sobs.
The obsession that had sustained him for seventeen years and caused him to commit monstrous crimes collapsed the moment King poured out the liquid in the bottle.
There is no greater sorrow than a dead heart.
King stood there quietly, watching him for a long time.
Then, he suddenly spoke.
"Those who have never experienced pain cannot understand pain."
"Now—"
"Have you experienced a little pain?"
"..."
Marcel's eyeballs moved extremely slowly, struggling to focus on King.
"...I have experienced it."
Marcel's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper rubbing against rust, so soft it was almost inaudible.
He repeated it, this time a little clearer, with an eerie calmness after utter despair:
"I have fully experienced it."
"So this is what it tastes like."
He grinned, seemingly wanting to laugh, but only pulled out a curve more twisted than crying.
Blood foam overflowed from the corners of his mouth.
Marcel understood King's meaning—
Vigneire loathed Marcel.
Realizing this was more cruel than killing him, than dissolving him, than any torture.
King did not take his life.
What King took away was the meaning of his life, the "love filter" he used to shield his conscience and guilt.
"King, you are truly a cruel person."
"You deserve it."
Marcel was silent for a moment, then nodded fiercely.
"Yes, I deserve it."
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