So very, very stupid and so very, very cocky. Even after Fever's shameless violence, even feeling the Hunt-like air and the sharp tongue of Dahlia, he still doesn't watch his own back, still doesn't expect the visitor's centre to allow another attack. Slaughter or no, the Pine Devil catches him by surprise in a way even he doesn't expect.

He never tries to say anything. Even when he can't help the sounds of agony, muffled by the grip on his throat, he refuses to attempt to speak. But there's no mistaking the fear and resentment. There's an indignity to dying like this, to being eaten alive, for something like him.

It is not a fast death.

Funny, really. How those who attack him here allow for so much more suffering than Daisy did, once upon a time. Maybe there was some lingering affection for her long-gone friend that night, maybe she just wanted to get it over with—even she probably couldn't say.

But no matter. It all comes back around eventually.