My bullets bounced and pinged off his carapace, knocking hello but not being admitted. I jumped, still firing with my left hand, stabbing with my right, muscles straining as if they might burst. Closing in and plunging deep, the carapace let out sparks as it opened. My sword plowed through not accepting the laws of physics, it didn’t stop, not through bone, not through artery, not through heart, until finally it hit the steel wall behind.
He screamed, silently, veins straining from his head, pumping what little blood he had left all over my hand and arm. We locked eyes, face to face, I studied him. What do the dead think before cessation? Was he reliving his life like they say? Thinking of loved ones maybe? His first kiss? He started to seizure then vomited blood and breakfast all over my face.
If someone reads this, could you let me know if I used cessation properly.