Makun stood over him, breathing hard. Blood dripped from the bullet wound in his side. Flames still licked at his torso, but they were dying now, flickering out as the demonic smoke thinned. The spirits inside him were screaming, clawing at his ribs from the inside, but the fire had burned most of them away.
His right hand was blackened. Charred. The skin blistered and cracked, But his fist was still clenched.
He raised it again.
The spirits were screaming for blood, they had to finish the job.
They had to finish Mark.
WOOOSH!
His fist darted through air, thick smoke forming behind it, ready to finish Mark.
However, just as his fist was about to connect with Mark, Makun felt something snap inside him. It was not anything painful like what he endured since this morning.
No, it felt different, like a closing gate, something coming to an end.
His fist hung in the air. He could feel himself slowly regaining control over the ugly voices.
KILL. BLOOD. TEAR.
