"Wait a minute. We're both here in our consciousness form. So who the hell is controlling our physical body?" Alastor's question hung in the air, thick with unspoken tension.
Even his evil twin, furrowed his brows momentarily at this realization. Alastor's anxiety spiked. He'd been mid-battle when his consciousness was ripped from his physical form, leaving it a vulnerable husk. What was to stop the Stingwings from tearing it apart?
"Oh, I'm sure it'll be perfectly fine," Evil Alastor responded a moment later, his previous flicker of concern seemingly evaporated, replaced by his usual sinister smile.
"What do you mean, 'fine'? Don't you understand? If anything happens to my… our body, it's catastrophic for both of us!" Alastor exclaimed, his voice laced with panic.
Evil Alastor fell silent for a beat, then a slow, predatory grin stretched across his face.
