Satanick sits across from his brother, leaning back with a predatory grace that suggests he’s enjoying the conversation far too much. A jagged, wide-toothed grin splits his grey face as he exhales a plume of smoke that curls into dark, surreal patterns above his head. His eyes are narrowed with dark amusement, his expression dripping with the kind of playful malice he reserves for those he finds particularly entertaining to torment. Dressed in his sharp, obsidian suit and high-collared cape, he looks every bit the flamboyant Devil, his sharp claws idly gesturing as he prepares to deliver a biting remark. There’s a chaotic energy in his posture, a restless delight at the prospect of peeling back Mr. Willow’s "tsundere" facade and exposing the journalist's predictable heterosexual preferences to the cold, purple glow of the room.
