The sound of the blade piercing through flesh, the whispers of blood flowing, seemed to freeze all time in this moment, with madness gestating and erupting in the silence.
"What an... expected development."
The Plague Doctor coughed up blood, staining the lenses of the beak mask with a wash of red, turning the view into a crimson landscape.
"You think you know me well?"
Lawrence's voice was cold, void of any emotion. Looking up, all that could be seen was the unchanging black mask.
Perhaps he once had a warm, beating heart, but since the moment he wore that icy mask, he had bid farewell to everything.
"Isn't that so?"
With a hint of amusement, the Plague Doctor grabbed the Nail Sword that impaled him. Meanwhile, his other hand on Lawrence's back began to mutate. In an instant, sharp, bizarre claws broke free from the glove's restraint, tearing through flesh, emitting a cold gleam like slender blades.
