The man covers his body in reflex, arms raising to protect his face from whatever was blowing the door in and sending him falling to the floor. He looks over, of course. Looks over and sees the burning body of the Rider and his eyes, alight with sudden inspriation at the sight of hell's own messenger meet the pits of flame.
He finds himself feeling as though his flesh were being peeled away. Carved by a delicate hand. His own hand. A smile curves its way across his face. Joy flooding him. The burning man had given him the greatest gift. He had become his own art.
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