A bloodied Whisker was sprawled right before him, staring up at him with a grin.
"You look terrible," Whisker said.
"You look worse."
Whisker let out a low chuckle.
"Really? Is it the blood? Or the whole 'gore everywhere' aesthetic? It's in fashion these days. Besides… I'm too handsome to look bad."
Atticus gave the grinning man a flat look. Large patches of his body were missing, as though they had unraveled. Bluish blood seeped steadily from the torn flesh, enough to gather into a shallow pool beneath him.
The man had to be in excruciating pain, yet… he was grinning.
"…you're crazy."
"Haha… I know."
Whisker chuckled again, then after a moment, his gaze sharpened slightly as he looked at Atticus.
"So? Talk to me. Do I need to worry about some oldie hijacking my star actor?"
Something heavy slammed into Atticus' mind. He frowned faintly. From a brief scan, he had no doubt it was Solvath, especially with the constant booming voice echoing through his mind.
