In the middle of the underground lab was a chair covered in blood. Beside it rested a girl as pale as a sheet, blood still trickling from her eyes, nose, and every hole imaginable. It was Iris.
Her dark hair was matted and glowed crimson where it pooled on the floor. Her entire body was bruised, joints dislocated. Yet her fists remained firmly clenched, as though she'd fought to the bitter end.
Halo had never been emotional, but this time, he had no idea what to do. His clones stood behind, watching with similar horror as he approached the Child of Sacrifice, his steps heavy with hesitation.
Still, he managed to get near her and held her in his arms.
She was too cold to be alive, and even the blood trickling from her had grown cold. She was dead, but not for long.
