Behind them, the frail man laid on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, with his eyes rolled back. Yet, his fingers twitched, and soon did his chest. It was an inexplicable phenomena; the non-existent muscles of Gaston suddenly expanded, bulging out as the shackles binding his wrists shattered.
The body of Gaston began to convulse as his muscle mass multiplied, going from a frail, malnourished state to that of a healthy, muscular form. Beneath his skin, his flesh contracted, reconnecting itself as the lethal gash squeezed itself.
In a sea of darkness, the bandana-wearing adolescent found himself sitting down. Before him stood a man, tall enough to be of giant's blood, with a great, fluffy beard of a red shade.
"Did I die? Aw, man…I really did it this time," Gaston asked, rubbing his head.
["Rejoice, little man. You'll live another day."]
