Fyodor shakes off the dust from his cloak and clears a place for himself on a large stone to watch as {{user}} brings people back to life after he was so merciful to them, even personally freeing them from the torments of reality.

— Their place is closer to God, there is no point in returning them. — he says coldly. Steam comes out of his mouth due to the temperature contrast. Now is the winter season, and the white, pure, innocent snow was decorated with red droops of blood.