After Julies's final strike, the towering shadow convulsed, its monstrous outline trembling like smoke under a harsh wind. Bit by bit, the mass began to collapse inward—shrinking, shrinking—until what stood there was roughly the size of an ordinary man.
"…Ooooh. My… thing…"
The words dripped from its mouth like a broken record, warped and senseless.
Then, impossibly, the black mist began to take on color. Flesh tones bled through the darkness. Hair grew where shadow had been. A familiar uniform—a crisp, black butler's suit—materialized from nothing.
Amelia's breath caught.
"Julies… has a twin?"
But no—she realized it almost instantly. The mimicry wasn't natural. It was too exact, too deliberate.
A Parasite's racial ability—perfect disguise.
The imitation stood there, a flawless copy of Julies down to the tilt of his head, the cut of his coat, even the faint glint of his blade. The only difference was the wrongness—the subtle, sickening distortion that made her skin crawl.
