Jon’s loud cry echoed as his shirt was ripped away from his body with the pull of the blast, leaving him bare-chested and in a ripped jeans and shoes. They all saw he was indeed bleeding- was, for the cold had frozen it, from what looked like a carving. Nebula shuddered for it looked self-inflicted- a marking of some sort on the entire left-sided breast that looked like it was recently done too- for it was fresh red blood. Was that what was making him seem so powerful?
Dropping on the partially ice-covered floor, on one knee, and on one arm Jon bent his head catching his breath. Heaving almost. Everyone stared at him not sure what to say or do now.
“Hurry,” Jon gasped out, “Hurry before- before it closes.”
The friends looked around as if expecting to see a door of some kind- not really
