Until The Last Day のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 91 - チャプター 100

The darkness engulfed everything. Vincent’s claws grasped at empty air, his chest heaving with effort and his golden eyes blazed fiercely in the dark. “Camela!” he shouted. Her response echoed back—sounding broken and trembling. “I’m here! I’m here!” But another voice cut through, a low and venomous whisper overlapping hers: “No, fox. She’s here. With me.” The atmosphere shifted, and shapes began to emerge. Two versions of Camela stood before him. One stood trembling and clutching her chest, her eyes wide with fear. The other sat calmly on a phantom bed, her scar glowing red as her lips curved into a sinister smile. The standing Camela screamed, her voice raw with panic. “Don’t look at her! That’s not me!” The bed-Camela tilted her head with a soft smile. “Why didn’t you choose me sooner, Vincent? I’ve waited…and waited…” Vincent's claws trembled as his chest ripped with anger and confusion swirling within him. “You’re not real,” he said softly.The smiling Camela leaned for

The gloves clung to him like living chains. Their red fabric felt hot against his skin, calling out Camela’s name in a thousand voices:“Camela…Camela…Camela…” Vincent roared as his claws ripped through the material, sparks flying as they struck iron. His body shook with rage as he pushed ahead, his eyes blazing with gold. “Get off me!” The gloves shrieked, their voices sounding high and broken. More reached out from the walls, wrapping around his neck and pulling him back. The air was heavy with the smell of iron and ink. From beyond the door came her voice—it sounded soft, fragile, and breaking, “Vincent… help me…” His chest ached with fury as he propelled himself forward, dragging the weight of the gloves like chains on fire. “I’m coming!” he roared. The gloves hissed in unison, with one pressing tightly against his mouth: “Say it. Say her name. Give her to us.” Vincent wrenched his jaw free, blood trickling down his chin as he let out a thunderous roar that echoed in the ha

The barrier splintered. White cracks spider-webbed across the light wall like glass breaking under a hammer. Vincent slammed it again with his claws, and blood began trickling down his wrists. His chest heaved as rage and panic ripped his voice raw with emotion. “Camela!” he screamed.Her name burst out of him like fire, but the void only echoed it in silence. Finally, the barrier shattered, shards glowing white cascading down like snow. Vincent stumbled through—only to find nothing. Nobody. No trace. Just a dark street stretching under a gray sky, the smell of wet concrete pressed heavily in his lungs. He spun around, claws ready to strike, golden eyes scanning. “Camela!” he yelled.His voice bounced off the nearby walls of brick houses, iron gates, and tightly shut windows. It seemed like a city, but it was far too silent. There were no footsteps, no cars, and no children’s laughter. Just the sound of his breathing and the gentle dripping of water from a gutter. And then—sirens

Vincent's scream pierced the darkness as he fell, his claws swiping at empty air. His body twisted in mid-air, feeling weightless while shadows tightened around him like chains. The ghost’s voice taunted him, deep and harsh. "You fall, fox. Because you don’t resist gravity. You belong here." Vincent let out a roar, desperately trying to summon fire, but no flames emerged. His golden eyes shone brightly against the dark backdrop. “Camela!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Please respond!” All he heard was the echo of his own desperate call. Suddenly, he hit the ground hard—solid stone jolted beneath him. His knees buckled as his claws scraped against the floor. The air felt thick and humid, weighing him down. He managed to push himself up and looked around. A narrow corridor extended endlessly before him, its walls carved with her name—Camela, repeated thousands of times. Each letter seemed carved in blood. Vincent clenched his jaw as he traced the wall with his claws. "Do you t

The slam rumbled through the room like a clap of thunder. Vincent turned around, his claws out and fur bristling as his breath came in harsh gasps. The bed remained empty, the pillow still stained with blood from where Camela's message had been scrawled across the page. Suddenly, the journal snapped shut by itself. Then it slid off the sheets and dropped to the floor. When it opened again, it was no longer blank. Each page was filled with writing—Camela’s shaky handwriting. But each letter was uneven and smudged with tears, as if written in darkness. Vincent crouched down, focusing on the journal intently. The first line bled through the paper like fresh wounds: "These are letters that never reached you." He picked up the journal. The ink sparkled, making the words seem alive:"I wrote to you, Vincent. Every night. Letters without stamps. Letters I could never send. Letters no one would deliver. Do you want to read them?" Vincent's voice trembled. "Yes." The journal flipped it