The relentless music continued assaulting his ears. Even with his hands over his ears, it did little to curb the metamorphosis sweeping through his body. His hands now resemble those suffering from gout—deformed and swollen.1

Charles staggered to his feet and scanned his surroundings. He dashed toward a cabinet by the hallway and picked up a pair of silver utensils. With a couple of swift slashes of his dark blade, the utensils were fashioned into sharp silver spikes.0

With a spike in each hand, Charles took a deep breath and ruthlessly plunged them into his eardrums. The searing pain of the punctured eardrums brought Charles to his knees, but a look of relief appeared on the face behind the mask. The music was gone; the incessant metamorphosis had also ceased.4

Brushing...0