[ He'd planned to move to the bathroom to minimise the mess... but no, let the demons deal with the blood. Why should he make their life any easier when it was their master who'd mutilated his body.

He straightened out his skinny legs on the table, shuffling so that the spot he'd indicated for Squalo to cut would be hanging in the open air. It'd be impolite to make him blunt his sword on the table after all.

He leaned his head back upon the sofa, letting out a long breath. For now he wasn't going to look just in case he flinched - though he'd been ten years an immortal, he didn't have the same practice at dying that C.C had. ]

There's no need for me to bite anything. Every part of my body will heal as soon as the wound is made.

You may make your blow whenever you please.