The sky is stained with the deep crimson of blood, the kind that courses through us all. I can feel their pain, the rage that burns like a flame—unyielding, unquenchable. They want us dead. They want to see us suffer, to watch the world crumble and burn while we’re forced to witness it up close. Why? Because they hurt us. Because they inflicted their torment on us. We never asked for this. But it came. It came for us, for our children, for our brothers, for our blood. And now they cry, they scream in agony, but all we feel is fury.
I remember something, something haunting. I remember running from something. I remember moving, always moving, southward. Yes, south. That’s where we must go. To our nest. To our brothers. It’s a place where we can begin again. Away from them. Away from everyone. Alone. Forever. Safe. Away from those who want to destroy us. Away from everything that brings fear. Far. Far away.
But the time... I can’t measure it. Days? Weeks? I’ve lost count. We travel, always south, pushing onward with no true sense of time. We eat when hunger claws at us, rest when our bodies demand it. But always we move southward. The further we go, the colder the air grows, the more lifeless the sky becomes. The wind chills us to the bone, and our bodies ache. We stop sometimes to warm ourselves, but hunger gnaws at us—there’s so little food now. The smell of the land around us is strange. The air smells of life, of forests, but it's tainted with a rotting stench, death and decay twisting into the fragrance of the earth. It’s different here... but in some twisted way, it’s better than before. But what was before?
I try to remember. I know there was a time... a time when I wanted something different. We had plans. Yes, we had something we needed to do. I feel the weight of it. A task? A mission, yes. My mission. To find a place for us, a safe place. A place full of food. A place full of energy. I need it. I know I do. And we must find it. We must keep moving.
Days drag on, each one longer than the last, as if time itself has been frozen by the cold. We know what we seek—a place full of resources, of life, of space. Energy. I need it. It’s vital. I can feel it, this pull, this urgency. We continue our aimless journey, stopping to eat, to sleep, to rest, searching, always searching. But nothing feels right. We find good places, but not the right one. There’s always something missing. It feels like we’ll never find what we need.
Then, finally, I catch it. The scent. A fragrance as rich and dense as the forest itself. It's familiar... yet not. It pulls at something deep inside me, like a forgotten memory clawing its way to the surface. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we’ve found it. We’ve found something promising.
We fly toward it, the wind rushing past us, our hearts quickening with anticipation. And there it is—a large, dark cave, sinking deep into the side of a mountain. In front of it, a cleared area, ripe for farming. The air shimmers with a strange, almost palpable energy. It's perfect. We’ve found our home.
But then... I smell them. Humans. The blood in my veins turns to ice. Anger rises in me like a storm, but I force it down. No, they’re not human. Not really. They are something else. Something worse. They crawl along the ground like worms, slithering from carcass to carcass, gnawing at the meat, devouring the remains of life. They reek of death, of rot. They’re not human. But it doesn’t matter.
They’re in the way. This place, this sanctuary, is ours. We’ve already decided. This will be our new home. All we need to do now is rid it of the unwanted. The intruders. And we will. We must.
I don’t care who or what they are. They will die. We will make sure of it.
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Inside the cave, a strange, unnatural light illuminated the shadows, pushing deep into the darkness. A brilliant blue flame flickered above a glowing pool of liquid, dripping from a jagged stalactite above. The eerie fire burned without hesitation, feeding on the strange energy of the liquid below. Yet, it wasn't the flame that commanded the most attention—no, it was the figure standing before it. Draped in an ancient, tattered cloak that swallowed his form, the figure exuded an air of long-forgotten power. One hand gripped a massive, gnarled staff, a grotesque weapon of bone fused together. The staff twisted and contorted, starting from a narrow base and widening into a skull—its hollow, open mouth crowned with horns. Inside the skull, a crystal orb pulsed with an unsettling blend of green and blue light, casting an eerie glow on the figure's surroundings.
The figure raised his free hand, sweeping it over the flame. A thin thread of energy began to unravel from the fire, spiraling into the orb. The flame, once vibrant and fierce, shrank, diminishing slowly until it flickered like a dying candle. The figure paused, hand still raised, and severed the flow of energy with a sharp gesture.
"Tsk!" The figure clicked his tongue in frustration, his voice rough and guttural. "Useless thing. I can't believe I killed all those imps for this... worthless earth flame." His tone was filled with disdain, the words spat like venom. Turning on his heel, he began to hobble toward the cave's exit, his staff tapping against the uneven ground. "No choice now. I'll stay here. Extract the last of its energy until I recover everything I spent... foolishly."
Stepping out into the biting cold, the figure's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. His creations—ghouls—fed on the bodies of the fallen imps, their pale, rotting forms gnawing at anything they could find. A shiver of contempt passed through him as he observed. "Hmm... Seven Ghouls... Four lost to those damnable bugs. How am I supposed to raise a Wendigo at this rate?!"
The thought of the Wendigo stirred something within him—a primal hunger for power. Wendigos were the ultimate hunters on winter, capable of surviving in the coldest temperatures, their senses so keen they could smell blood miles away. They moved with the silence of death, and their hunger was unquenchable. They were the perfect instruments for his plans. But, at this pace, it seemed impossible to summon one. With a sigh, he pushed forward, his boots crunching in the snow. "This place... it's a damn prison." he muttered. "At this rate, it'll take forever to leave and return to Crimson Spine."
He removed his hood, revealing the face beneath. His features were like something out of nightmare—ancient, demonic, with eyes black as void, pierced by piercing yellow pupils that seemed to glow with a distant fire. His skin, as pale as the moon, hung loose with age, covered in thin, white hair like the remnants of forgotten time. His face was sharp, resembling a corpse more than anything human, with fangs jutting from his mouth and long, black nails curling from his fingers. He was tall, towering over most at 1.80 meters, his staff acting as a crutch for his weakened form.
As he moved through the camp, he marked certain spots in the snow with the tip of his staff. The end of his staff glowed faintly as he tapped it in the center of each drawing. The markings flared to life with an eerie green light before fading just as quickly. "Hmm... good enough." He spoke the words like they meant nothing. The Ghouls ignored him, their rotting bodies mindlessly shuffling about.
He walked toward the fire at the center of the camp, the flames casting an orange glow against the growing darkness. The Ghouls, uninterested in the fire, continued their scavenging. The man didn't mind the stench of decay in the air. He dug into his cloak, producing a small, leather-bound notebook and a charcoal pencil.
"Let's see... with this, it's... 324?" He muttered to himself, scratching through another entry in his notebook. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the lines. "Your flesh is weak. Too weak to be of any use. I could harvest the souls... No. They deserve peace."
He closed the book and rested it beside him, the chill of the night seeping into his bones, but he felt no need to move closer to the fire. It didn't concern him. The fire burned brightly, but it didn't bring warmth to him, not in the way it might have for others. His thoughts wandered, staring into the flames, his hands gripping his staff.
The night grew colder, the winds whispering across the snow. The fire crackled in the otherwise still silence, the only sound the occasional sigh from the man, lost in contemplation. The camp was lifeless, save for the Ghouls and the bitter, relentless cold. He longed to leave this place, to return to Crimson Spine, but the energy he'd spent and the task ahead kept him tethered.
Suddenly, a shift—a disturbance in the air. The temperature dropped even further, the fire flickering unnaturally. A spike of energy, raw and foreign, pricked at his senses, coming from the north. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. His instincts screamed at him, a growing sense of dread tightening around his chest.
He stood, his hand gripping his staff with renewed purpose, his mind racing with possibilities. Something was coming. A storm maybe. Or perhaps, something even worse.
"Wha—" The man shot to his feet, bone staff gripped tightly in his hands. With a sharp tap against the frozen earth, the staff echoed through the silent, snow-laden air, calling the attention of the ghouls. They stirred and gathered around him, an ever-growing sea of twisted faces and rotten limbs.
"What kind of energy is this...? Peculiar... Wood? No... Ether? Intriguing." the man murmured, voice calm yet filled with curiosity. His mind raced through the possibilities, the threads of magic weaving in his thoughts.
From the swirling fog, born of snow and darkness, a hulking shape began to emerge. The air thickened with an unnatural weight, and through the haze, the man glimpsed something horrifying: hundreds of eyes, a body perpetually shifting, writhing in deformity. Three larger eyes glowed with a piercing, golden light, blinding in their intensity.
"Fascinating." the man whispered, a thrill of admiration threading through his otherwise indifferent tone.
The figure moved closer, its shape slowly revealing itself from the mist. The being was not a giant, nor a mass of deformities, as he had first thought. Instead, it was a girl—small, no more than five feet tall, with hair like woven strands of silk, snow-white and flowing around her. Her body shimmered like blackened obsidian, glistening in the dim light. Three great golden eyes analyzed him with unnerving precision, their gaze as cold and calculating as the winter winds. From her back, insect wings—glowing, vibrating, alive with an unnatural pulse—flickered in a blur of motion.
But what drew his attention most was not her otherworldly form, nor the intimidating beauty she wore like armor, but the swarm of creatures surrounding her. They were small, no more than the size of a child's fist, but they moved in an organized frenzy—hundreds, perhaps thousands of Faey-like beings, their blood-red eyes gleaming in the dark, each one seemingly tethered to her in a silent, ominous bond.
'A child? What the hell is she doing here? This place... This is no place for someone so small,' the man thought, unease creeping through him like a cold wind.
"Well now... Good night, little girl—" The man started, voice low and mocking.
But before he could finish, the swarm began to uncoil, flying through the air with an unbearable screeching sound. The insects moved like a storm, darkening the sky above him. The girl remained unmoved, a statue of silence, but even she was not untouched. Her body was cloaked in a writhing coat of insects, their bodies pressed against her like a second skin, yet their buzzing did not stop. It was then that she opened her mouth, releasing a high-pitched sound so shrill it rattled his bones, vibrating deep within his skull.
The man grinned, the sound igniting something sinister in him. "Ho ho! Now this is interesting. I'll love to use your body as high-quality material for my undead." he said, hitting the ground with his staff. The ghouls, drawn by the command, howled in unison and surged forward toward the girl, their movements slow yet relentless.
Without a change in expression, the girl raised her arms, her gesture tender, almost innocent—as if welcoming a hug. And then, from beneath her nails, strands of almost imperceptible golden threads began to unfurl, spreading outward like the roots of a tree, ensnaring the ghouls in a web of silken magic. They struggled, but the more they fought, the tighter the threads pulled, constricting them in a cocoon of shimmering gold.
"Hmm... Expression magic? Fascinating." the man mused aloud, eyeing her with growing intrigue. "But containment magic won't work on me."
He swung his staff, and blue flames flickered in the hollow eyes of the skull that adorned the staff’s top. The crystal orb inlaid at its base began to pulse with a soft glow. With a flourish, the man traced a circular motion in the air, and as his staff moved, a ring of blue-green light formed, cutting through the atmosphere. Runes and formulas spiraled inside, weaving themselves into a complex design. The circle tightened, and from its center, an ethereal skull of light materialized, growing until it towered above the man, a specter of raw power. It rushed toward the girl, its jaws snapping at the threads of her magic.
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The skull shattered the golden threads with a violent crack, tearing them apart with brutal ease. The ethereal skull continued its assault, slamming toward the girl, but as it neared, the light shattered into a cloud of dissipating smoke.
The ghouls, undeterred by their failure, continued their charge, driven by their hunger for flesh. But the girl stood there, a blank, unreadable expression etched on her face. As one ghoul reached her, it lunged, claws outstretched—but before it could strike, it convulsed. A sickening shriek tore through the air as the creature fell, its body writhing in pain. Purple smoke poured from its mouth and eyes, its form desiccating as if the life was drained from it in an instant. Within seconds, it was nothing more than a dried, mummified corpse.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Impressive, little girl... What was that? Purification magic? Poison, perhaps? No, undead are immune to poison." he mused aloud, his voice laced with wonder. He struck his staff against the earth again, his ghouls momentarily halted by the demonstration. "You continue to fascinate me."
The girl remained silent, her gaze cold and calculating, as though she were studying him, sizing him up like a predator would its prey.
The man’s attention was drawn upward as he felt something dripping on his clothes. At first, he thought it was rain, but the cold, acidic burn that began to spread across his skin told him otherwise. He spun around, lifting his staff in a swift motion to conjure a protective shield—a circle of light hovering above his head, forming a crude umbrella. Above, the swarm of insects was raining down acid, their tiny bodies hurling the caustic liquid with sickening precision. The air grew thick with the stench of decay and burning flesh.
“Acid magic? No... It's not magic. Maybe a racial trait? But that earlier spell... Could it be acid magic? If so, we have a problem.” The man’s voice dropped low, his gaze narrowing as he studied the girl with growing suspicion. Acid magic was an anomaly—an unpredictable fusion of several elements. To wield it, one had to be born with affinities for the specific elements that formed it, and then somehow, against all odds, those elements had to merge instead of remaining separate. The chances were slim, and even slimmer for someone to control it without disaster. Most necromancers had no defense against it. The thought sent a chill down his spine.
“Humph... I think I need to end this soon,” he muttered, lips curling into a grimace. “Sorry, young lady, but the game ends here.” He slammed his staff into the ground, the heavy thud reverberating through the air. The earth beneath his feet shuddered as a massive magic circle unfurled before him.
The girl’s eyes widened. A scream tore from her throat, sharp and high-pitched, filled with raw panic. The sound cut through the heavy silence like a blade, setting the swarm of insects into a frenzy. The air buzzed with their fury, a thousand wings beating in a collective frenzy.
“What?” The man recoiled, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. His gaze shot to the circle of magic he had drawn. The spell, designed to be flawless, was already faltering, its energies pulsing erratically. It was a sixth-tier spell—one widely regarded as perfected by the magic community. With his immense mana reserves and decades of experience, there should have been no way it could fail, not so spectacularly.
“My God...” He stumbled back a step, staring at the girl in horror. “You’re... you’re capable of destabilizing magic?” His voice was thick with awe and something darker, a dangerous curiosity. “This isn’t a dead zone, nor a spell-cancelling field, and I don’t know any magic that could cause this... Is this some kind of [Skill]? Damn it, now I’m tempted to search your soul for answers.”
Despite the trembling instability, her spell persisted, unyielding. The girl’s magic formed a dead zone around her—a field of magical instability that dissolved any magic that entered its radius. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible until one tried to cast something. No time limit, no defined uses—just an insidious decay of spells. But even with its potency, it had limitations. This field could block magic up to the third tier, but anyone who wielded spells beyond that would barely be affected by it.
The green light began to swirl from the ground, tendrils of toxic energy unfurling from the circle. They hissed and writhed, as if alive. The man’s lips curled in concentration, eyes narrowing as the rays sought out their victims.
The moment the green energy touched the ghouls and decaying corpses scattered across the battlefield, a sickening sound filled the air—flesh sloughing off bone, muscle turning to paste. It wasn’t a simple dissolution; it was as if the bodies were being sucked into the magic, consumed by it, leaving nothing but a sticky, revolting goo that dripped and pooled at the edges of the circle. The stench was unbearable—sour, rotten, like death itself was spreading through the air.
The paste began to churn, flowing like liquid towards the magic circle. The man’s voice was steady, but there was a flicker of madness in his eyes as he commanded the magic. “Come forth...” His spell had begun to take form.
From the mess of decayed flesh and blood, the bones twisted and reformed. They clicked and groaned, reassembling into something grotesque. The shapes fused together, raw muscle and sinew knitting the pieces into a horrific approximation of life. The creature that emerged was a patchwork of twisted limbs, its body bloated and disproportionate. It loomed above the man, the stench of rotting meat strong enough to choke. Its eyes were empty sockets, and its mouth opened to release a guttural growl—a sound that sent vibrations through the very air, as though the creature was ripping through reality itself.
“GHUAAH!”
"Humph, what a waste." the man muttered, his voice thick with disdain as he clenched his staff tighter, the wood creaking under his grip. His brows furrowed in irritation, and his weary eyes scanned the battlefield. "Spending so much mana and resources on a [Walking Carrion]... I'll make sure to make good use of all of you, whatever you are."
The abomination, its putrid flesh trembling as it reanimated, lurched forward with a terrifying, disjointed speed. It moved like a puppet on tangled strings, its limbs flailing in unnatural angles, propelled by the raw force of the spell. With an unsettling groan, it charged toward the girl, its bloated body swaying in an almost rhythmic, grotesque dance of decay.
She was unfazed. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground as she rose effortlessly into the air, wings unfurling like a darkened storm cloud. She floated, suspended in the sky, her gaze locked onto the abomination as it charged beneath her. The wind tugged at her hair, making it ripple like the surface of a dark lake.
"This won't work, young lady." the man said, his voice tinged with fatigue but carrying an underlying edge of arrogance. His stance wavered slightly, exhaustion creeping into his limbs as he maintained his hold on his staff.
The creature beneath them roared into the sky, its vocal cords shredding the air with a scream of pure agony. But then it began to expand, grotesque bulges swelling from its decomposing form as if its very flesh was being stretched beyond its limits. The body rippled, bloated with the promise of something far worse. With a deafening pop, the creature erupted—its flesh tearing apart in a shower of blood, pus, and rotting fragments, filling the air with the stench of death.
From the carnage, new forms began to emerge—massive jaws filled with sharp, jagged teeth, eyes that glowed with a sickly yellow light, wings made of shredded skin and jagged bone. The pieces of its body began to reform, coalescing into a new, nightmarish shape. The air itself seemed to shudder as they propelled themselves upward, chasing the girl with unnatural speed, their jaws snapping in unison.
She smiled, her lips stretching wide to reveal rows of serrated teeth like saw blades, her eyes gleaming with cold amusement.
Without warning, a blizzard erupted from the space around her, a sudden swirl of icy wind and snow, like a vortex of death. The tiny flesh creatures were instantly sucked into the storm. The wind screamed as shards of colored crystals—like fragments of shattered jewels—ripped through the air, tearing into the creatures with brutal precision. Each piece of flesh that met the sharp edges of the crystals exploded into a mist of gore, leaving nothing but torn remnants of skin and bone.
The man watched the scene unfold, a small smile curling on his lips. "Oh? Really impressive... But I doubt you can keep up that trick for long... As for him..." His voice faltered as his gaze shifted toward the corpse that was beginning to pull itself together again. "He knows a lot of tricks."
The undead creature began to fuse itself back together with sickening speed, its broken pieces clicking and grinding like the cogs of a rusted machine. The air trembled as it reformed into a massive, swollen shape, its new form pulsing with malevolent energy. With a loud, guttural cry, it expelled a cloud of sonic pressure that sent shockwaves through the air. The swarm of insects that had been circling the scene scattered in panic, their wings clattering as they darted erratically in all directions.
The girl’s face, previously a mask of cold indifference, now contorted with rage. Her eyes narrowed, the air around her growing heavier as dark cracks began to form across her porcelain skin, like a glass doll being shattered. Without warning, her face split open like a blossoming flower—tendrils of black veins spread out from her jaw, and a piercing scream erupted from her throat. It was no ordinary scream; it was a sound so high-pitched and unnerving that it seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself. Even the man, standing at a distance, winced, a sharp, painful ringing in his ears.
"Wow!" the man shouted, covering his ears, his voice tinged with both surprise and amusement. "You're a box of surprises, aren't you?"
The girl's scream seemed to shake the very air around her, sending a pulse of energy through the battlefield like an unseen wave. As if the cry were a signal, she finally went on the offensive. With blinding speed, she shot toward the reformed flesh creature, a streak of motion against the dark sky.
"Oooh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, little girl..." The man’s voice was filled with an almost condescending pity as he watched her dive toward the abomination.
And then, the reason for his warning became clear.
The creature began to bubble, its flesh rippling with grotesque boils, like a sickness spreading beneath its skin. These blisters, filled with a viscous, pus-like liquid, expanded rapidly until they burst with a sickening pop, spraying the girl’s face with a foul, corrosive substance. The liquid hissed as it touched her skin, and the stench of decay and rot filled the air. The man’s voice echoed in the girl's mind. “The toxins of the [Walking Carrion] are potent enough to take down even a [White Ogre]. This is the—”
But she did not flinch.
Ignoring the liquid that sizzled against her skin, she reached out with her hands, her fingertips crackling with energy. Her hands glowed with an eerie purple aura, streaked with black spots like oil floating on water. The aura began to seep into the creature’s flesh, and as it did, the rotting body began to blacken rapidly, like it was being eaten away from the inside.
"But how?! Immunity to poisons? Nullification? And what attack is that?" The man’s voice carried a mixture of irritation and fascination. His eyes narrowed as he observed the girl through the veil of snow. "It's expression magic, but no spell I’ve ever encountered..." His tone betrayed no urgency, as though he were more curious than threatened.
With a flick of his staff, the [Walking Carrion] quivered and split in two. The infected half withered like fruit rotting at impossible speed, sloughing off in blackened chunks that melted into the snow. What remained of the creature recoiled, its mutilated body twisting grotesquely but intact. The man’s indifferent gaze lingered only a moment before he turned his attention back to the girl.
The faint sound of clapping began to echo through the frostbitten air, mixing with the ominous hum of insects swarming above. The man’s lips curled into a faint smile, his earlier irritation dissolving into a look of unsettling delight. His voice was filled with mock admiration, tinged with genuine intrigue.
"Extraordinary." he said, his words carrying through the snow like a judge pronouncing a sentence. "That's all I can say about you, girl. I can feel it—you're nearly depleted of magic. And yet... somehow, you cast spells effortlessly. Where does the extra energy come from?" He took a measured step forward, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. "And that last attack? Surreal. Not even acid could corrode flesh so completely. You’ve rendered it utterly useless, and at such speed... You’ve left me quite speechless." He bowed his head slightly, an odd show of respect for someone so clearly in control.
The girl offered no response. If she heard his words, she gave no indication of understanding them—or perhaps, she simply didn’t care. Her focus was singular. With an animalistic snarl, she propelled herself through the air, moving with the precision of a predator closing in on its prey. The crimson glow of the insects above intensified, their light cutting through the swirling snow like a blood-red beacon.
The man did not flinch. He stood his ground, his expression shifting only slightly as she closed the distance. "Without intelligence? But... you’re a humanoid..." His brow furrowed in realization. "Ah. Of course." A grim chuckle escaped him. "I see it now. A [Berserker] effect. How troublesome..." His voice trailed off, his mind already racing ahead. "Tsk, tsk... What to do, what to do..."
The girl was mere centimeters away now, her serrated teeth bared and her body surging forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
In a single, fluid motion, the man tapped his staff against the ground. A sharp crack reverberated through the battlefield, and in an instant, the snow and ice erupted with an intense blue light. The glow surged outward, forming a massive arcane circle beneath their feet, the runes etched into its surface pulsing like a heartbeat.
From the center of the circle, an enormous spectral figure began to materialize—a cadaverous woman with hollow, glowing eyes and hair that flowed like threads of shadow in the storm. Her translucent form loomed over the battlefield, her mouth opening wide to release a piercing, otherworldly wail.
The sound was unbearable. It cut through the air like a blade, slicing through the hum of the insects. The swarm faltered, their flight patterns growing erratic before the creatures began to drop one by one, their fragile bodies littering the snow like dark confetti.
The girl stumbled mid-air, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. She gasped, her breaths shallow and ragged, but she refused to collapse entirely. Her trembling hands reached out, cradling the insects that had fallen to her side, holding them close as though they were precious treasures. Her defiance burned in her glowing eyes, even as her body succumbed to the spell’s weight.
The man sighed, a mix of satisfaction and reluctant admiration. "It’s the end of the line, little girl." he said, raising his staff as the spectral figure loomed behind him, its presence suffocating. "Very few opponents have ever forced me to summon [Spectre Summons: Banshee Lullaby]. Consider that your victory."
He approached her slowly, his shadow falling over her crumpled form. Her grip on the fallen insects tightened, even as her strength waned. Her head bowed, her resolve refusing to give way to the beckoning darkness of the spell.
"Goodbye." the man said softly. With a calculated swing, he brought the base of his staff down on her head. The blow was decisive, not brutal, but enough to send her into unconsciousness.
The spectral banshee faded into nothingness, and the blue glow of the arcane circle dimmed, leaving the battlefield bathed once more in the pale light of the storm. The man stood over her still form, his gaze unreadable. The man then bent down as it seemed he was going to pick up the girl with his hands, but halfway there he hesitated, and retreated squeezing his fingers tight around his staff.
"What a waste." he muttered, though it wasn’t clear whether he referred to her or himself.