Bright numbers and words floated on his retina. Displaying the weak points in Onikage's armor, the points where he already hit and where he missed and how it was dodged.
It directed towards Onikage's movements and sweet spots. It reminded Rhyss of how many bullets were in his magazine, his distance to his oponent in centimeters, the exact time until his equipment arrives and many other things.
As Mithias opened the van a gristly display greeted him, along with the overwhelming scent of blood and death.
Like a collaboration between Pollock, Poe and Dante. A piece of art painted in nightmares.
Every Vampire was torn to shreds, to a point where it was nigh impossible to guess how many there where, let alone who.
Of there mangled and eviscerated bodies only red strings spun of blood and gore were left, as they were draped in a net-like fashion.
The crimson web was connected at the center to a still beating heart. Behind it on the back wall were dripping letters.
