Rex snapped his eyes open, the haze of sleep vanishing instantly as he felt the wrongness. His face was too heavy, a persistent, suffocating pressure clinging to his jawline and cheekbones.
It wasn't the weight of a mask; it was the weight of a fusion. He reached up, his fingers meeting the cold, unyielding surface of the Lustful Villain's mask.
It didn't budge. And it didn't even shift.
"Well," Rex murmured, his voice raspy and low, echoing in the silent room. "That's one way to commit to a role."
He applied a steady, controlled force, trying to peel the mineral-divine material from his skin. It was useless.
The Underlayer's reconstruction process had been too thorough; the mask had woven itself into his very biology, merging with his molecular structure the way his gauntlets had. He was no longer wearing a disguise; he was the disguise.
A cold, dark amusement flickered in his chest. He sat up slowly, the bed creaking under him.
