The boy grips a metal pipe in his right hand, swinging it with rage and ecstatic frenzy.
Thud. Thud.
"AaaaAAAaaa!"
"How much is your suffering worth for the choices you've made? How long can you endure, you tattered whore of Satan?!"
He grabs the woman's hair, yanking her down toward the ground while swinging his arm again.
"But... wh-yyy? Whyyy?"
"Ahhh no!!" The woman tries to pull herself away from the man.
The boy's heart races as he gasps for breath. A wild excitement floods his chest.
"Oh, speak to me, if you'd strike me down — but don't you lie to me.
Around the radiant Moon, storms brew in the night.
My heart — you bathed it in betrayal.
Wifely loyalty? Where did you abandon it?"
"My husband?? He sent you?? There's no man more disgusting in this world than him! I didn't leave for nothing!"
Her voice carried a desperate, hysterical cry, while tears escaped down her reddening cheeks.
"A whore and a disgusting pig… You were made for each other… hmm…" the boy replies.
He slowly paces around the woman sitting on the floor, then continues his eerie poem.
"Where were your graceful legs when I drowned the night's phantom in tears?
When silence was the only sound in the room?
You forgot that love is a sweet shackle, leading you blindly.
And that even friendship and blood mean nothing after that."
"I… I didn't mean any harm. Please, just tell him I'll come back to him soon…!"
"O mournful veil of wicked paths,
You greet me with a kiss, then laugh as you leave me alone.
Are you the woman who's to be an example?
You leave only ruins and chaos, where once life sprang forth..."
Knock knock.
"Should I open the door?"
"Who the hell is that?!"
"But… how??"
He looks around, then spots the phone in the girl's hand.
"Where the hell did you get that?! The rat called the head rats?!"
From his pocket, he pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, its corners folded over four times.
He unfolds it and begins reciting a prayer.
From his other pocket, he pulls out a knife:
One stab.
Two stabs.
Three stabs.
Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
At the twelfth stab, he falls into a trance, repeating his hum:
"Uhum, uhum, uhuhuhum..." — like a broken tape. His breath halts, and he collapses.
The door bursts open:
"He was just here a moment ago!"
"That's his third victim… He mustn't slip through our fingers again!"
"Tonyyy!! Tonyy!! Hey!"
"Louis? Are we there?"
"Looks like it… look at that island!"
Staggering, they help each other up in the aching dullness of their pain — or at least would have, if not for the sight before them that spun desire, purpose, and strength like a swiftly turning wheel.
Their gaze shifts toward the sea, where the fractured rays of light once again brighten the mirror of the ocean's weeping surface — ever more beautifully.
They drift toward the orphaned island. Upon reaching its shore, they see only one thing:
at its northwestern end, atop a high hill, a basilica gleams in golden light.
A strangling, yet oddly comforting sensation grips their hearts at the sight.
Around it, a sparse and somber land stretches out, with only a few scattered apple and fig trees — but far more mushrooms of countless colors swarm the coastline.
As they pace toward the welcoming gates of the basilica, they examine its appearance.
Three entrances lie at its front: one large in the middle, and two smaller on either side.
Above the central archway shines a carved image — the Birth of Venus.
We've finally arrived...
The doors of the basilica open, and an angelic voice invites them in:
"The final guests of the trial have arrived.
Team three… Step forth and enter."