Retorta is anything but innocent.

To be brought into this world by the ones below, born to cause chaos and insanity within the world— there is only one person that can tame such power.

“Why can’t I do this?” Retorta asks, hands cradling a baby bird. The bird is dying. He closes his hand around it, crushes it and watches as its blood spills from his hands. “I’m saving it from its pain.” He pouts, dropping the mangled bird to the ground, his hands stained crimson.