Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180708023430

The shooting continuing, the weapon flares. Coated in silver, lined in the foreign power source, coiled by a snake who's gaping maw constitues the fire of the barrel. It's micro-eyes light on in an ominous sight. The feeds invigorates it. Alburn can feel the strength of a thousand return to his side. A thousand eyes gazing with his own. A thousand arms lifting his rifle.

The second shot that lodged into the lifeless thing bursts in a red mist. The catridge springs out of the kill, almost under Alburn's will, he who holds its vessel. Ambient dust seeps out of it, weighted under its own power, the bullet surges forward, self-replicating with each rabid creature it snatches the llife out of.

2 spectral projectiles...

4...

8...

16...and so on. One for each. Their names forfeil to the foreign. Their lives following close after. They fall one by one like a rain of corpses, holes hollow with the escaping power. One by one, mimicking a line of phantom shooters picking their scores. Alburn can see the bullets tracing in the whirlwind, producing the beautiful, yet glaucous dust that follows them. The strength of his arms and feet, steadfast, but ever cautious, for they speak of danger, once more. One that is escaping..."Wounded...cornered...trapped...escaping..."