"You did better than I expected," Xerollion said softly.
His voice was intimate, almost tender, carrying only to the two of them like a secret shared between lovers in a graveyard. "Ninety seven point three percent... An extraordinary number."
"A masterpiece of behavioral fidelity."
He reached out, almost gently, and brushed a speck of stone dust from the construct's forehead.
"I built you well, little echo... I truly did." A dark, satisfied smile played beneath his mask as he leaned closer, his breath ghosting over the construct's face. "I just happen to be the other two point seven."
Rex Rexilion's fingers scraped against the jagged debris, leaving faint trails in the stone dust. His hand twitched a weak, spasmodic curl of tendons, and his eyes cracked open halfway.
Through the haze of simulated agony, he fixed his gaze on the masked nightmare hovering above him.
