As the visage of the blue butterfly disappeared from his sight, leaving him utterly in the already destroyed graveyard, the Coffin Box looked at Gin despite its face being covered with tattered bandages.
'I'm just not in a position to fight.'
Gin could've just showered the coffin with different kinds of stolen abilities from his repository but he knew deep down that such a tactic would be of help at all.
Despite having numerous cards in his favor, Gin's incapacitated body rendered these advantages futile in combat.
"Sprouted Roots."
"Manifestation of Crows."
"Fluttering Hordes Of Blue."
As roots began to sprout, enveloping Gin while crows and blue butterflies nestled in its place, he maintained a composed demeanor, calmly observing the looming Horror as it poised itself to strike.
'Here it comes…'
The Coffin initiated its spell by placing one hand atop the other, with one hand clenched firmly while the other supported it.
