He gestured, he shut his eyes, he fixed his hold. Her lips brushed his sanctuary. “Do it now.” With a yell that appeared to deliver a furious hotness caught inside him, Beheim flipped the shade out of the way of the pit, standing up as he did. He had a brief look at Agenor in an edge of the pit, his seared head, his fingers getting a handle on the highest point of the pit, his heels delved into the dirt simply over the water level, clustered up, snaked like a man going to spring. Furthermore spring he did. Shouting, he gave himself wholeheartedly to Beheim, hitting him with his shoulder at the knees, thumping him to the ground. Beheim turned as he fell, landing intensely on his side. He attempted to roll away, however Agenor was on him, battering at his head with consuming hands, then, at that point, coming astraddle of him, getting him by the neck, crushing. Outlined disjointedly by blue sky and pine limbs, the broke and darkened oval of his face was terrible: the lips crusted with burned tissue, to a great extent a wicked split, similar to the skin of some awful organic product overflowing with harmful readiness; nose diminished to folds of charcoaled ligament that fluttered horrendously with the entry of his breath; the temple so attacked that through the seared snapping skin could be seen slight areas of white bone. The teeth, as well, were white, uncovered in a scowl or a grin, yet the gums were rankled and dying. Just the eyes were clear, and they were the eyes of a crazy person, protruding and wild and rimmed with red, causing it to show up as though somebody solidness were looking through a veil of frightful deformation. Beheim couldn’t see the flares that were devouring Agenor against the splendid sky, however the air around him undulated with hotness, and he felt the skin of his neck rankling underneath the elderly person’s hands. He flailed wildly, attempting to unseat him, yet Agenor’s solidarity was overpowering. The life was being stifled from him. His field of vision was blushing, dark wings shuddering at the edges, odd knot of obscure cells floating, disappearing, the air going dull as though it, as well, were being seared. Then, at that point, somewhere off to the side, he saw Alexandra surge forward and poke at Agenor with a stick. The pine branch with the sharp end, something very similar with which he had compromised her. She pummeled it into the side of Agenor’s neck, and it punctured skin, muscle, and ligament, infiltrating profound with an awful crunching clamor, housing there like a roughly padded bolt. Briefly Beheim didn’t think it had any impact, however at that point Agenor, without a cry, went sliding hidden, his weight abruptly eliminated from Beheim’s chest, the hands slipping from his neck. Wheezing, hacking, Beheim crept a couple of feet away. Alexandra got his arm, helped him stand. He turned about, spotted Agenor faltering up, utilizing the stone for balance and pulling at the pine branch puncturing his neck, his developments paralyzed and slow, similar to those of a debilitated animal. Beheim had no sympathy for him currently, just fury and the craving to cause torment. He looked about the clearing. Not far to one side was a pine tree whose lowermost branch was seven or eight feet in length and had a forked end. He headed toward it and, utilizing the strength of his fury, tweaked at it, pulled, turned it free. Holding it like a lance, he crossed the clearing to Agenor, and as the elderly person turned, as yet pulling at the sharp stick, Beheim stuck the forked finish of the branch against his neck and pushed him back onto the stone, sticking him there as one may stick a snake. Agenor let out a sibilant cry and attempted to wriggle free, yet Alexandra joined Beheim, assisted him with holding the branch set up, and however Agenor’s battles developed unhinged, he was unable to get away. The pine needles near his face were consuming; his garments were consuming, his tissue, all wrapped in a pale, undulating envelope of fire, however the course of immolation was more slow than would have been the situation with ordinary tissue, the disintegration of meat and ligament from bone more progressive, and along these lines, Beheim assumed, the torment was all the more brilliantly specific and including. Agenor’s shouts appeared proof of that, going high, higher, until there was nothing human with regards to them and they appeared to be the objections of a bird or the screeches of a rodent. Sections of sparkling dark singe split away from his cheek, from the punctured side of his neck. An enormous score had been consumed from his lower lip, the gum consumed, and the bone underneath going brown. His shoe cowhide had been singed to his feet, so he seemed, by all accounts, to be wearing extraordinary footgear with independent toe sheaths and the bands implanted in coated, dull red skin.