It was a sickening sight. The flesh regrew almost cancerous, too fast, too voracious. Bloody filaments stretched out like greedy roots, seeking to close the horrible maw opened in Dylan's chest. Bones clicked as they fused back together with a sound like dry wicker, muscles wove themselves in a grotesque, accelerated dance.
The black blood no longer flowed – it crawled towards the wound, sucked in by this unnatural regeneration. New skin, a sickly, glistening pink, spread like living mold, covering the horror before their eyes. A sickly-sweet, metallic odor – that of fresh flesh and corrupted blood – mingled with the abomination's stench.
