Stylish-Assassin's return

At the trails and splatters of crimson, the still warm blood he drew from a 'borrowed' gun brought back that familiar sense of reaping lives of those similar to himself with a tingle that crawled from the very tips of his fingers that pulled the trigger of that cold hard and indifferent weapon which helped him paint the air, street, and walls with the scents and colours of blood.

From the instant he picked up the gun, till the instance he took a deep breath of that irony whiff, his world had rewound to the days he spent drenched in blood.

And as if to mark that rewound world as his reality, the drawn blood began to crawl towards him, as if they were sentient symbiotes instead.

The thick crimson liquid that was unlike any began to climb up on that short stature of his until it covered his entire figure in blood with an inch deep pool beneath his feet.

His figure had dyed in crimson, that is until his face began to morph.

GLITCH-!