The stranger didn’t reply. Instead, he reached down toward the pool of blood that had formed beneath Furnace. He didn’t bend; it was as if his arm extended, stretched out like licorice. One finger uncurled from his loose fist, the nail as long as my palm, and he used it to scoop up a nugget of crimson soil. The arm swept back up in a lazy arc, contracting to its former length. A crack opened up in his head and he popped the nugget into it, his entire body shivering with perverse delight.
