Seiya's breath went still, taken aback by what had just transpired. His gaze slowly turned toward the hollow remains of his shoulder, steam rising from the wound.
"That's one," the demon murmured, his sneer widening in delight.
Again, the demon singled out a feather from the air and sent it down. It landed upon the very arm that had just lost part of its shoulder. Upon contact, the skin erupted in decay—purple and putrid. Seiya felt his arm go limp, paralyzed.
"That's two," the demon yet again, murmured, counting in a voice steeped in mockery.
He sneered down at Seiya. "Do you understand now, or do you need me to spell it out for you?"
Seiya remained silent, unmoving, his expression concealed behind his blindfold.
Ignoring Seiya's silence, the demon continued, his tone almost gleeful. "Each feather above…" He let the words hang in the air, savoring the moment. "…carries its own plague." A wicked smile curled across his lips, delight dancing in his voice.
