The blood in his chest cavity burst out with pressure, like a red fountain.
Findelter's head rolled and came to rest at Jason's feet.
The eyes of this man behind the scenes were wide open, the last spark of vitality in his eyeballs reflecting the towering figure of Jason as he stepped forward.
Jason slowly pushed up the hockey mask, revealing his calm face.
He looked down at Findelter, who had long lost all signs of life, as the hissing of snakes in his ears became more intense.
Hiss, hiss!
Amidst a chorus of hisses, groups of serpentine apparitions suddenly sprang forth from the shadows.
They were elusive.
They reared their heads and flicked their tongues.
A faint, fishy odor began to pervade the entire crypt.
Jason glanced over these seemingly real but illusory shadows, his gaze unchanged.
When Findelter first set up the "ritual," Jason hadn't entered this crypt; he only came in when the opponent's "ritual" was about to be complete.
