[Kariya doesn't approach unawares: his Worms have long since detected the scent of violence and the sound of pain, now garnished with blood in a scent both sickeningly familiar and strange. He's prepared for a great number of things, even if the worst seems to have passed.

Then the screaming starts.

He's still too far and the crowd too agitated down the hall for him to make out what exactly is going on. There's apprehension, but to tell the truth the silence had been more alarming.

Then he makes out the words. The tone. The familiarity of the voice beneath the hideous strain of fury.

... you who swears to loyally protect that which he loves, but knows only how to betray and break all that comes to his hands.

He stumbles.

Nearly doesn't hear it--

And I curse you who speaks of love when he knows nothing but blind obsession. He who is too weak to truly ever know real emotion.

And for a moment, he can't move at all. It doesn't matter who the words are directed towards; what reaches into the deep, bruised parts of him is their tone, their speaker. So familiar, that tone of condemnation. If he closes his eyes, he can call up the expression that must surely accompany them. This, too, is a lie.

He opens his eyes, and realizes he's arrived. Somehow, the fact that the hallway looks like a murder montage fails to have the same impact. He watches dispassionately as his funhouse mirror image chokes something out, along with his Worms. He could probably guess. He could probably be angry, too, but he simply watches.]

... Lancelot. [His voice is very soft, where the knight passes him in the end.] A moment.