Two Pitchmen?
Somehow, the air seemed to grow thicker with scales.
The sudden harmony made the scene instantly more thrilling, no doubt surpassing the usual door-opening jump scare in a horror story.
Even more astonishing was that the figure inside not only spoke in exactly the same voice as the Pitchman, but looked identical, too.
Wild hair, long wings, abs dragging along the ground—it was practically a carbon copy. Perhaps that was exactly the point?
That chorus just now had clearly been spoken in the Pitchman's voice by both of them.
Did life really always outdo art in sheer absurdity? They'd only just been commenting on the Pitchman's multiple-personality disorder, and now he'd gone and shapeshifted?
Surveying the scene beyond the door, Fu Qian clicked his tongue in amazement.
The paper-thin villa metaphor had come up earlier, but clearly, those abstract walls hadn't interfered with the door's basic function.
Not only could it still open, but beyond it lay Lord Yarakir's residence, where all manner of rust-colored Murderous Weapons still fluttered about.
And amid all the clamor stood a second Pitchman.
He even smiled back at Fu Qian as he looked him over.
The atmosphere had shifted in an instant.
In fact, it wasn't just the one beyond the door. The Pitchman who'd been accompanying them the whole way was smiling broadly now, no longer looking the least bit frightened.
There were two possible explanations for the change. Either his earlier fear had been an act, a performance to play along with the persona Fu Qian had given him, or this time he'd successfully turned the tables on Fu Qian and finally had a chance to gloat, putting him in a much better mood.
Of course, Fu Qian was happy with either explanation.
Perhaps they'd been chatting the whole