No one had noticed that Kian had gone. Well, not gone exactly. He was curled in a trembling ball under a chair, terrified by the loud noises.
What were those things, that could shoot fire and death with one quick burst?
He tried to stop his hands from shaking, but they persisted. Trying to calm himself, he put one hand on his belt and one hand on the shoes beside him, which he had managed to pull to safety.
Calm. Peace, blissfully floating. Everything gone.
That was when Kian realised. It wasn't the belt that was doing that.
He looked at his leg. It was almost severed at the knee, ligaments torn. Blood was pulsing from it, bright and red.
Shoot, he muttered. I won't be able to dance for months.
It was strange, he realised, that he was not bleeding. His body seemed too surprised to bother with such a mundane activity.