The Passion

Locke caught the syringe and held it flat on the palm of his hand.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to make any more mistakes.

The syringe wobbled and spun around.

Then the syringe spun around once more.

Flames coated Locke’s fist and he punched with all his might to the right, crashing against Belvon Laire’s ruined face.

‘You will pay for this, boy. I underestimated you, but you seem to continuously grow the more you fight. No more games.’ Belvon Laire held his hand up to the roof and an orb of blood swirled around the space above his hand, slowly growing bigger. ‘This ends now. Call of the Bloody Night!’ Spikes erupted from the orb of blood, reaching forward and skewering everything.

Locke gasped, shocked at the bloody death that waited for him. He shut his eyes, braced for the worst, but the death never came.

A figure stood in front of him, dried and grey, electricity shroud
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