"Oh, I guess you thought you were trying to hit me..." Ashton acted as if he was lost in his thoughts. "News flash, whenever you thought you were hitting me, you were hitting your soldiers instead."
Nishkca's eyes widened in horror as he connected the dots. The truth unfolded before him, and the weight of his actions pressed heavily on his conscience. His comrades hadn't met their demise by a swift, sharp blade as he had believed; it resulted from his own ruthless and frenzied attacks.
The realisation hit him like a tidal wave, and the guilt washed over him, threatening to drown him in remorse.
The hallucinations that had driven his men to turn on each other were nothing but cruel illusions, a wicked ploy played by Ashton through blood mist. And he had been its unwitting puppet, mindlessly perpetuating the chaos and destruction.
"It can't be..."