He looked sideways at the ghoulish sight out of the corner of his eye. '<em>Trouble</em>' had found him even here. He sighed and stepped forward into the rain. A bolt of lighting cracked in the distance as he looked up, and felt the rain soak him. His arms felt as if he had plunged them into a glacial stream, and the water hitting him turned white, crystalline, ice.<br/><br/>The wet, tearing, sounds of raw meat being ripped and chewed didn't distract him, he looked up at the clouds and lifted his arms to the sky.<br/><br/>The rain seemed to fly right to him, the ice began to build up like a shell, armour. In moments he was encased in a suit of white and blue ice. From head to toe he was covered in thick sheets of ice. The clawed gauntlets on his hands made cracking, snapping noised, as he flexed his right hand, and more ice began to pour out of his hand into an icicle that he gripped like a club.<br/><br/>He turned to look at the dead man, who was too far beyond healing, in regret. If the trader had shouted, or leapt back before his neck was chewed through, Glais might have been able to cleanse his blood and close his wounds. The only thing left for now was to make sure that the killing creature was disposed of.<br/><br/>He looked at the pair, dead, and undead and only said one word before slamming his left hand onto the creature's neck to pin it to the bottom of the cart.<br/><br/>"sorry"<br/><br/>It wasn't a girl anymore. It was just a souless<em>thing</em>. A thing that had killed. That was the only issue that mattered to him. It had killed a man for food, and would do so again, and probably done so in the past. It was a pest to be exterminated. He did a half clamber, half jump, on top of the dead man. Straddling the dead man, and pinning the creature who was eating the trader, down. With the whole of this weight ont= the creature to hold it in place he began smashing the frozen club on the false girl's face over, and over, and over again.<br/><br/>The club bruised and broke flesh as it went up and down in the air, like a thresher beating down to separate the wheat from the chaff. Each swing splattered blood, bone chips, brain matter and gore that went in all directions. Turning the creatures face into a badly malfunctioning fountain, spraying matter in time with the blows from the ice-club in random directions. The front of the sealed-shut helmet, the front of the armour, the dead man's remains, the sides of the cart and the ice-rod suffered supplementary splatterings of spoiled sanguineous stuff.<br/><br/>"sorry"