Inherited Weapon
There was not a wound, but a tougher portion of skin on his neck, like that of scar tissue from a healed injury. He calmly picked himself up on the solid, yet liquid surface, finding his footing before looking ahead.
The faceless entity remained ahead, simply standing there watching him without any sense of urgency. On the flipside, Finn didn't feel any sense of dread as he looked at it now, looking upon the boundless abyss without a fluctuation in his heart rate.
["Death."]
Experiencing the finality of life and escaping it, there was a certain calmness instilled in him. As he clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling his own fingers, they were left cold as though having sat in ice for hours on end.
He steadily exhaled a breath, adjusting himself from the side-effects of returning from the other side, staring at the one that could easily send him back.