@hamsaworn. oh… you got something on your shoe.
the grip on your vast knife tightens, one last slash through the infected's head as the screeching it leaves behind its long lethargic soul slowly dies out, your own teeth gritting from the heavy corpse collapsing onto you, before you push it to your side with a reticent grunt. nectar hues turn to dina, a nod to assure and consider this a job done: hopefully it was the last one to surprise you in this section. ❝ that was a close call. ❜ you husk out, unhurried, til you're alarmed of the detached leftover of a hand residing on your shoe. appalled features guide their way in on your face, as you shake it off your boot. ❝ OH... thanks for that. ❜