Ishiki's grip tightened on Sorrow's Edge as those red eyes bore into him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. The figures head had turned with that horrible grinding sound.
His bones creaked and flesh teared as the ruined neck muscles struggled to support the movement.
For several long seconds, neither of them moved. Ishiki stood frozen, weapon raised defensively, while the chained figure simply stared with that singular burning gaze.
Then something unexpected happened.
The rotted figure's cracked mouth opened, and a sound emerged. There were no words spoken, just a rattling noise that could have been a laughter of sob, but there was no way to tell.
The figure's right hand, with fingers that only had bones—lifted as much as the chain would allow. It reached toward Ishiki with trembling desperation, golden blood dripping from a wound at the wrist.
