Allistar wakes among the dead, a body on top of a body stacked atop another body. Cold stiff limbs and the faint smell of new death and aged copper of blood somewhere close by. It numbs him in ways his mutation can't account for. He was dead. These people on, around, under, near him are dead . And there's a nothingness beyond that's left him chilled, that these people--people, not corpses--have been sentenced to. The rage coils inside him, through each of his limbs, winding taut and reinforcing... read more
