The sounds of creation where sounding in the air. A needle and thread holding together grey flesh at the seams. Green liquid being pumped into forged veins. Organs placed just where they should be. Tools and scalpels sat nearby, ready for any use. It was simple to Desmond Tiny, in his perspective. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t mind it. Sometimes he enjoyed it, even, having the power to harness a soul into a vessel like this. He was nearly finished now, after hours and hours. It would wake up the moment he cut the final thread.