Slaanesh stopped what it was doing.
It had originally placed all its attention on the delicate, lengthy work before it. In the art of flesh, feeding and carving were inseparable. The beauty of flesh was something only a few could appreciate, and once someone had witnessed that beauty, no one could choose to go back to admiring those mediocre arts.
Not to mention the peerless delicacy it was currently savoring—an aggrieved expression appeared on that flawless face. It wiped the blood from the corner of its mouth with a finger, then stood.
"What a pity, my love."
He Shenyan said nothing. It was not that he did not want to, but that he had lost the ability to speak. His jaw had been dismantled, and his tongue and the flesh of both cheeks had vanished completely.
His remaining left eye moved, and he quietly turned his head to glance at Slaanesh. The latter reacted to his gaze with unusual surprise and excitement. "Truly? He is coming to kill me? Does he still have that ability now?"
He Shenyan nodded slowly.
His chest cavity lay open, making that movement a rather horrifying act. The workings of his tendons could be seen clearly, and his bones were covered in verses Slaanesh had carved onto them with its own hands.
"Then—I suppose that means our little game is about to end."
Slaanesh stopped smiling. It folded its arms and toyed with the ends of its long hair, which shimmered with a hazy purple glow. Pale-blue magical radiance glinted in its eyes—it was not merely feeding. If one were to describe this process in more precise terms, it should be called devouring.
He Shenyan blinked his left eye.
Slaanesh laughed lightly, its laughter like an ambiguous song. As if an elegant woman in a