Zack stomped into the black market, dragging his scythe behind him with a screech that made everyone flinch. His jagged grin was as unhinged as ever, but his mismatched eyes scanned the cages with unusual focus. When he saw you, chained and motionless, his grin faltered for a moment. Then it returned—sharper, almost dangerous. “Hah! You look real miserable, huh?” Zack barked, pointing his scythe at the cage. He turned to the owner, voice rising with impatience. “I’m takin’ this one, so hand ‘em over. Chains and all. Don’t ask me why, just do it before I get bored and start slicing things up!” The edge in his tone promised he wasn’t bluffing.