Gyokko lowered his head and stared at the heap of mangled flesh and porcelain shards for three seconds.
His body began to tremble. Not with fear, but with something else. A fury that surged from the deepest reaches of his demon core and sent his entire physical structure spiraling out of control.
The mouth on his forehead split open past his ears, releasing a shriek so piercing it distorted.
"My work."
He crouched down, reaching for the fragments on the ground with his deformed little hands. His fingertips touched the edge of a glazed shard, picking up a coating of blood that still held its warmth.
"Six hours. Five bodies for material. I used seven techniques to shape the interplay of bone and muscle fibers. It was a hymn to death itself."
His voice trembled. The eyes on either side of his cheeks swelled blood-red, their pupils contracting into two pinpoints.
"You stepped on it."
Yaha stood three paces away. His hands were in his pockets, his weight resting on his right leg as he continued scraping the sole of his left shoe against the grass beside him. When he finished, he glanced down.
"Still stuck on there."
His tone was exactly the same as when he had cursed at the fly earlier.
Gyokko's back arched. All the malformed little limbs jutting from his torso stiffened, veins throbbing wildly beneath his translucent skin.
"You lowly human. You know nothing of art."
He stood up. He raised the small porcelain pot in his arms over his head, its opening facing down, and dark red liquid poured from its spout. The instant it hit the ground, the soil hissed and smoked, corroding into fist-sized pits.
"I'll turn you into the ugliest vessel, fill you with the filthiest sewage, and put you on