Null Collins floated with calm ease, his face twisted in pure rage as he held his wife, Crimson Irene's bloodied body within his hands. Time itself seemed to freeze as the remaining eight Eleven Winged Angels could only stare at him, utterly dazed, their expressions stiff with disbelief as they wondered how he had come here.
Collins slowly floated downward, his descent controlled and silent, his feet eventually touching the surface of a star as though it were nothing more than solid ground. He stared at Irene without speaking, his heart beating rapidly within his chest, his veins constricting, his blood flow surging violently.
He didn't know what to say; he didn't speak. He felt pained, he felt guilty, he felt ashamed… a torrent of emotions coursing through his body… overwhelming, suffocating, tightening. He couldn't protect his wife… he had nearly lost her.
