Ruckus had reined throughout the main room. Wood crashing against itself, bodies slamming into shallow water, and the screams of all three slayers who attempted to challenge your master. Foolish. Their witless attempts of justice had left the beautiful palace in disarray — nearly resembling Doma himself.

“Don’t be so on guard,” his tone, despite slightly slurred, had a recognizable playfulness to it. “I killed them all, no more are coming.”

Though the left half of his face had been melted from the forehead down, he calmly laid against a nearby cushion, watching his faithful servant peek through the doors. His body was handling the butterfly girl’s poison perfectly fine, even beginning to regenerate, albeit at a significantly slower rate.

Raising what’s left of his hand, he patted along the seams of the cushion, attempting to grab your attention. “Aw, perhaps I will die; from your lack of attention, that is.” He then dramatically pushed his free hand against his forehead — another human gesture he had picked up a few weeks back.