There, a hideous wound remained.
If that were all, the wound wouldn't have stood out among the countless other old injuries that covered his body, which had long since healed or faded into faint scars.
But what was horrifying was that, unlike the other scars, this wound was slowly seeping wisps of black gas, so thin they were almost imperceptible.
Even stranger was the wound itself.
It was a disturbing, deep purple.
Its edges weren't the pink of new flesh seen in a normal healing wound. Instead, they were charred and rotten, a deathly gray, as if corroded by some powerful acid.
The inside of the wound didn't bleed, nor did it ooze any tissue fluid. There was only a patch of dead, dark flesh, as if it had been stripped of all vitality.
'Damn it, what in the world is this Power?'
Seeing that the wound still hadn't healed and was even showing signs of further decay, Graham cursed inwardly.
