Somehow, he could tell that the harsh figure wasn't half-assing his threat; it was completely serious. But, the severity of it drug Gaston out of his mind fixated in terror as he wiped the blood from his mouth, picking himself up to his feet.
"Thanks," Gaston said.
"Keep your mouth shut and get ready," Attila remarked, "We might all die anyway."
Despite being impaled by a dozen blades, the four-armed entity of nebulous origin was unfazed; the weapons unsheathed themselves from its flesh through an unseen pull, its pierced body mending itself.
Gaston caught his breath, holding his bleeding arm by the elbow, "Any idea what that thing is?...It didn't even touch me, but…I ended up like this."
"Doesn't matter what it is. It attacked one of my comrades–that's a declaration of war," Attila claimed.
