Emerging, or more accurately sliding, out of the darkness was the Duke of Hamlet. He was three meters in length, gliding across the ground on four tendrils encased in a bony shell. Devoid of skin, a red chitinous exoskeleton covered his entire body, his facial features gone. Where his head should have been was just an outline of a face, as if someone's features were trapped in amber—it was hard to be sure if it was truly a head or another disguise. His body, diminutive in comparison to his tendrils, resembled a piece of armor, with curved barbs growing upwards from his back, ending in two blood-red, semi-gelatinous arms. At the end of the arms, five sharp spikes mimicked fingers, and now these ten spikes were clashing together, producing a metallic clang.
With his bizarre clapping echoing, the Duke of Hamlet elegantly circled around Lyle with measured steps.
