“i***t old man, don’t fall asleep now!”
Zeth ripped part of his own shirt and put pressure on his wound to make it stop bleeding before it’s too late. But his hands get burned just by touching his blood.
“What the hell?!” he gasped when a smudge of Yvan’s blood touches his skin, “what’s happening? It’s boiling hot.”
He tears Yvan’s shirt open only to see an unfamiliar tattoo on Yvan’s stomach. Swirls of unknows scriptures, lines, and patterns are surrounding a small wound he has, covering almost half of his torso.
Yvan’s wound is just larger than a piece of grain, and the bleeding isn’t proportional to the size of scratch. This made all of their eyes wide open.
“What is this?” the dagger holder breaths out.
“It’s a Batok,” Sol explained, “it’s a mark left by an ancient curse.”
