Damon ignored the relentless buzzing of his pager, his focus unwavering. Sweat dripped from his face, soaking his already-drenched clothes as he stood amidst the oppressive silence of the forest. The pager lay forgotten in his jacket beneath a nearby tree, shaded and safe from the sun's harsh rays.
Pain coursed through his body, radiating from his shattered fingers. His left hand was in ruins, its five fingers broken and charred, the blackened remains of flesh barely clinging to the splintered bone.
His right hand, trembling but steady, was poised in the shape of a gun. At the tips of his fingers, a swirling ball of shadow magic coalesced, thin astral winds flickering around it as it compressed. With a calm, controlled breath, Damon fired.
The recoil was devastating. His flesh seared, and his finger bones cracked audibly under the strain. He gritted his teeth, his sharp breath escaping as he steadied himself, ignoring the dull throb that pulsed through his hands.
