James sat in front of Alan's soul, on a chair he conjured with his emerald green threads. However, the chair was in a sad state, multiple threads unravelled time and time again, only for James to mend them.
His mask, his flawless white mask, was broken as well, lined with endless cracks, and the look in his eyes was listless. His hands were sitting on his knees, palms facing towards him. His fingers twitched every so often, but ultimately, they were unable to do anything more.
His shoes were dirty, and his suit was wrinkled.
Countless strange beasts surrounded him, the guardians in Alan's soul, a unique type of existence given birth by [Dominatus], with thin but long legs supporting a ridiculous body of metal and rock, and pincers in place of eyes. They seemed to form a protective circle.
