[Even this much is selfish, isn't it? Yes, Vergilius has ended countless lives just as Lobelia himself has, but it's not like he relishes in their slaughter. That's what makes them different, among so many other things, and yet this difference hardly matters. As selfish as Lobelia's request is, he knows Vergilius won't hesitate to do what must be done. As his guide, his light in the darkness, Lobelia trusts he won't be led astray.

That uncomfortable, leaden lump settles in his throat again when Vergilius' hands cradle the back of his neck. He isn't sad, isn't angry, and he isn't happy either, but he will be soon. I'll be happy, that happiness already granted to him through countless cycles of death, no longer something he needs to claw out of Vergilius to get a mere taste of.

Ah, but speaking of countless deaths.]

Heh! You're not wrong, but dying by your hand might soothe me some. It's a fair trade, isn't it? Still... before arriving here, I experienced death countless times over. First was Papa's death, and then Maman's, and then so many others whose names and faces I've forgotten.

Those oiseaux maudits robbed me of my suffering, but had the choice been left up to me, I would have died every death I've ever caused. That would have only been fair, non? More importantly, it would've made me happy.