Two weeks passed.
Nero remained in the cell, alone except for the rats and Gungnir.
He had been visited twice by Templars in large Crimson suits of armor.
Both times, the helmed figures opened the metal gate just long enough to toss in a small bundle of rations before slamming it shut again. The rations consisted of hard bread and a waterskin that was never quite full enough.
He survived on the rations and the rats. The dungeon had an abundance of them for some reason, and unlike him, they were a bit fat and plump from feeding on the discarded remains of the Templars.
Nero learned to lay still, waiting for them to approach, then striking fast. Or he set crude traps using straw and scraps of cloth, catching them when they came sniffing for food.
He killed them and ate them raw. The meat was tough and bitter, corrupted just enough to sustain him. Each rat gave him Ein Sof worth a fragment. It was not much, but it was enough to keep the Yin form stable.
