So the story went thusly:

Sarge looked at the charcoaled body and said, “Fuck it.”  He looked at Max.



The two looked at Tomas.  “What’s up, priest?” Sarge asked.

Tomas looked at the body.  “Well, it’s burnt.”

“No fucking shit,” Sarge grunted out.

“Now, mate,” Max said, “no need for that.”

The preist knelt down and gingerly placed his hand onto the corpse only to yank it back, hissing in pain.  “Great Father above us, it is still on fire!”

Two slits where the eyes could have been opened, showing pools of red lighted energy.  The mouth opened…

Sarge kicked the head sideways.  The head snapped off and rolled a bit away from the trio.

“Oh…” Max said, his face a trifle green.  Tomas looked like he was going to sick up also.

Sarge went towards the head and noticed the lights didn’t fade.  “Hey guys…”

The head suddenly burst forth thick tendrils of flame from the torn area, singing Sarge’s boots.  The Bull stepped back with an oath.  The others stepped back as the body collasped in a pile of black soot and watched as the tendrils began to form a body…

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