Zarek stood in silence, his machetes slightly aimed down toward the ground, blood dripping from their tips. His chest heaved, corpses littered all around him. He had killed so much by this point that the seas of Turned were having trouble even making their way forward, finding themselves walking through a mesh of squishing flesh, blood, and bone.
How many had he killed? Zarek had long stopped counting. The total itself didn't matter in the slightest, but there was a hint of clarity returning to his eyes.
It seemed that this level of darkness wasn't enough to progress his Charisma much further than this.
He looked up to the skies, the rain pelting down so heavily that it even sank into his eyes, making it look as though he was crying tears of blood.
