The press of the detonator was a small, insignificant click. A sound almost lost in the din of the battle. But its effect was immediate. Catastrophic.
The container at the back of the wagon began to glow. Not a soft, magical luminescence. An angry, malignant, and sickly green light. It pulsed with a life of its own. The light of a plague about to be born. A high-pitched, whining sound began to emanate from the chest. The sound of a containment seal about to fail. Growing louder and more frantic with every second.
Chris's laughter, a wet, gurgling, and utterly triumphant sound, filled the small space. He had lost the duel. He had lost his honor. He had lost everything. But in this final, spiteful, and suicidal act of pure, nihilistic vengeance, he had found his victory. He was going to die. But he was going to take a city with him. And he was going to take the man who had ruined his life along for the ride.
