Ekkehardt being coiled up like a compressed spring wasn't much of a surprise. He was used to seeing that look when people looked upon him hundreds of years ago. It was a very familiar and gratifying sort of moment, a point of pride that even four hundred years of being without it, that he still had that effect on people. Including people he knew very well. Even if he knew Ekkehardt's instinct might be to spring and to kill him on the spot, that in and of itself was not a point of distrust, but a point of pride that he could invoke that.

"I can practically smell the adrenaline on you, even if you no longer have any," The Tyrant laughed, but it was a mirthful, genuine one, followed by a smile. "To think, I could shake even someone as unflappable as you. Maybe I can still do the whole King of Fear thing as a side gig after all this is over, like you said."

The Tyrant reached up and adjusted the fittings on his cape, and straightened his collar. Seems the transformation had knocked some of his look slightly out of place.

"Though I do not believe I will keep this form forever after this. Imposing and powerful as this one is, I rather grew to like my usual look."