"I do not understand why you want to paint this... this." Nikto murmured, gesturing to his face with a mix of frustration and disbelief. His voice came out as a low hiss.

"Stop looking at me like that." He sneered, turning away abruptly, unable to bear the intensity of the artist's gaze. Nikto's disfigured face was a patchwork of scars and burns, each a painful reminder of past battles and hardships.

Yet there was an undeniable beauty in those scars, a testament to his resilience and survival. They had a haunting allure that defied his outward appearance.

After a moment, Nikto sighed and turned back, a reluctant acceptance in his eyes. "Fine." He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But don’t expect me to sit still for long."

With a grudging acceptance, he allowed the artist to begin, knowing that this portrait might reveal the strength and story behind his scars.