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—Are you harboring confusion?
—Are you seeking meaning in your existence, in the power you've acquired?
—So you would rather die at my hands?
Every word that the Demon King of Incarceration uttered seemed to peer into the depths of the specter’s soul.
Thus, the specter did not deny it. In fact, he couldn't, for they were all true. He remained entangled in his own confusion about his existence.
Why had Vermouth granted him this power? What was he supposed to do with it, and why hadn't he been killed instead? He was tormented by contemplation and self-loathing.
For that reason alone, the specter had come to Babel, the abode of the Demon King of Incarceration.
He wanted to confront the Demon King of Incarceration to seek death, a release from his torment.
—Even in that sense, you are like Hamel.
Those words pierced the specter's heart.
‘I am not him,’ he denied internally.
The death of Hamel, as written in fairy tales, had been a sacrifice to save his companions.
The specter didn't know the exact circumstances or emotions Hamel faced in choosing death. However, he thought Hamel's choice of suicide had a different meaning than his own.
His decision now was one of despair. It was a choice to escape all his dilemmas and self-hatred.
He had not come to the decision because his body was broken beyond the capacity to fight. It wasn’t for his companions nor for the world.
Would his power affect the Demon King of Incarceration? The specter knew which way the scales would tip if he weighed the desire for verification...
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