Those smiling faces crowded in front of Roger without attacking, merely gazing at him quietly.
But even if you knew they were harmless, being watched by dozens, even hundreds of heads was not a pleasant experience.
As Roger stood up, the beast in the distance had already roared into the garden, splattering a shower of blood and gore with a casual wave of its limb.
A dozen heads collided, twisting and bursting apart, and the middle-aged man who had first entered the garden was appreciating a smiling head in his hands.
"What beautiful flowers, each petal perfect without a single flaw," he said, lowering his head as if intending to sniff the sweet fragrance of the blossoms.
But what he didn't know was that his large nostrils were nearly stuffed into the pale face's slightly open mouth.
Ignoring the middle-aged man not far away, Roger rolled his body to dodge the beast's attack and scaled the fence at his fastest speed, rushing toward the gate not far away.
Weapons.
