"Why did you bring his soul here?"
"In our era, after the death in the Soviet Union, those charlatans and rascals could freely blame their misdeeds on it because the dead cannot speak... quite an interesting historical anecdote, isn't it?" With that, Susu threw the soul to the ground.
Everyone present saw the soul's orb begin to distort.
Malin extended his hand, and a blessing of positive energy pulled the pitiful soul back from the brink of distortion: "Fortunately, the dead can speak now."
With those words, from Malin's center, a pitch-black void started to spread, and looking up from what once was the ceiling, the ancient starry sky from long ago shimmered. Malin gazed at the middle-aged man kneeling and holding his head before him, questioning him through a whisper of the soul.
· Look at me, wretched soul.
· Look at me, the final echo of a pitiful life, look at all who see you, look at your judge.
In Malin's whispering voice, the man raised his head.
