It was an understatement to say that Syryn was taken over by the spirit of rage. The number of puppets that kept attacking him was getting ridiculous. As he kept smashing apart the puppets that threw themselves at him, he had a feeling that their numbers were growing, and they were all converging towards him.
A tall hill of broken puppets was gathered before the energetic teen. They streamed in from all corners of the city and blocked his path of escape. Behind him, the sea of fire pushed onwards and in front of him, a wave of marching puppets inundated his path. He was trapped. Still, he refused to sprout wings and escape because Syryn felt eyes on him. Someone was watching and playing with him.
