Vilnius, transfixed by the blade from Halkkor's wrist, erupted with noise. He let out the most agonized, bloodcurdling shriek I'd ever had the misfortune to hear. Amid his physical anguish, however, he maintained an expression of awe and confusion, staring down at his wound as though its presence were a source of both beauty and mystery.
He was dying. Apparently this was a sensation to which he was unaccustomed.
Halkkor withdrew his blade from Vilnius' chest and callously watched his victim collapse in a bleeding heap. With a slow, theatrical turn, he shot me a menacing glare from the corner of his eye. "That was a masterfully executed plan," he mocked. "But somehow your brilliance and cunning failed to vanquish me."
"Wait," I begged uselessly as he approached, his frame seeming to grow larger with each step. "Let's talk about this."
"Talk?" he scoffed. "Talk is what led me into your pitiful little trap in the first place. I've had my fill of talk." He smiled, apparently taking sincere pleasure in my imminent doom. "Now is the time for action."
The blades on each of his arms looked really, really sharp.