Shiver, its not cold, but thatís the only way you could describe the way he felt. Focused and intent a deathly, relentless and unmerciful vale shrouded his better nature. A shadow of the betrayal he had suffered. His piercing stare wasnít angry, much worse unforgiving and uncompassionate. Any pathetic flicker of a soul left in him was soon doomed to expire. As a rushing torrent of hate breached the cursed catacomb of his memories. There was no movement, no sound, no life in his stature. There was no need, with an unwavering and precisely controlled flex of his buttock muscles he let one rip. Right on his adversaries face.