By Michael Putman
The sky turned from dark to light, and as I stood to my full height, color bled back into the world. Gritting my teeth, smelling my own blood, I faced my opponent. My sweaty neck cracked as I strained myself toward the sky, each pop making the sun flash like a camera. I was heat and light, and as I stepped toward him he understood, but too late. When I finally laid hands on him, my grip only cut through him, like a knife through butter, and he simply melted away. I had seriously underestimated how powerful dying would make me.
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