New York City
Mr. Seraph's Apartment.
The focus in the cramped living room had shifted entirely from escape plans to a medical marvel unfolding on Jake's forearm. A simple cleaning and bandaging wouldn't have drawn such an audience, of course—it was the wounds themselves that were acting strange.
The bleeding had stopped some time ago. From the edges of the torn skin, thin, inky black veins were slowly, trying to stretch outwards into the healthy tissue around the wounds. It looked like corruption, a sinister infection spreading its roots. But just as the black tendrils gained a millimeter of ground, a countermeasure would activate. The very tips of the black veins would suddenly flash with a vibrant, purplish hue—the same ethereal purple that glowed in their eyes when using their abilities. This purple energy would then race back down the black vein, like a neutralizing agent flowing through a pipe, forcing the darkness to recede all the way back to the wound's edge.
