A dense, purple fog swirls into existence, coalescing into the faint outline of a skeletal figure. The mist thickens, shifting and twisting until it takes the form of a humanoid feline, his muscular frame exuding an aura of silent menace.

With a deliberate, theatrical motion, the Stand strikes a commanding pose, his presence radiating an eerie precision—danger restrained, yet ever ready to be unleashed. His cold, steely pinkish gaze betrays no emotion, only an unwavering readiness to obey.

In his eternal silence and steely unwavering gaze, he makes a single movement with his thumb, already poised over the small yet deadly trigger resting against his index finger, is all it would take to reduce everything to dust.