Morgan Glenn felt as if he had been twisted apart, the hand on his neck like an iron clamp, unyielding no matter how hard he struggled.
Morgan felt he was about to merge with the dark night of death, his head and body seeming to have parted ways.
Yet at this moment, he was surprisingly devoid of much fear or regret.
Morgan found it laughable himself; Scarlett Glenn wasn't dead yet, shouldn't he be filled with immense regret?
No air was left in his lungs; he imagined his current appearance to be extremely ugly, mouth agape, tongue hanging out, eyes full of bloodshot streaks, bulging grotesquely.
Actually, it wouldn't be too bad to die here, since after all... this was his home.
Suddenly, the hand choking his neck loosened abruptly.
