Luke had knelt down upon one leg before the man, he raised his hand above his head and lowered it, his fingers encapsulated the head of John Casey.
onlookers looked upon the seen in horror, Luke steadily applied more and more pressure atop the head of the man, his scalp edged between his long unkept nails, not a sound crept up his throat.
The corners of his eyes began to run red, his nose alike, the mans face reddened and his muscled spasmed uncontrollably.
Luke looked up, the muzzles of a thousand guns pointed towards him, silence still sung its sweet song, the scene came to a halt, gunfire rained down upon the man that bared white pants, the long neatly etched bullets whizzed through the air, the muzzles shone yellow and red.
Luke released his grip that sat upon the mans head and vanished, not an after image remained to be seen, for he had gone.