Silent like a ghost, deadly like the scythe of the grim reaper. It was like a monster in the deep sea, dark like the lightless place it called home, right where the sun never shone, and where the prey never saw anything coming.
With a quiet savagery that felt even more blood-chilling than the brutal resistance against fate and the roaring determination to see the mission through, in but one instant, Lucas's skin was about to be kissed by the tip of the claw of death, and the impossible, what had seemed so out of reach before, was about to become possible, to become a reality.
Lucas's eyes moved, seemingly in the same slow motion as the destructive weapon with a heavy blue color wrapping around it like a second skin. He almost seemed too late to react, too weak before the all-encompassing fate, before written destiny.
