#vtm salubri

It was the first time he'd tried it on an object. Except, of course, Miasma's paintings weren't objects, they were people. Kine, for the most part, twisted and vicissituded into static form. It was time to return this man to his form, to let him finally die.

Rather than using protean to shift his own form, Eli willed it unto painting. The paint ran, pooling as viscera fought to be forcibly reformed once more, flesh re-knitting and bones re-shaping in a cascade of blood and wrenching, wet agony. This hadn't been all of him. Try as it might, the body could not grow those parts that had been used in other paintings. His heart was visible in his open chest, racing to pump blood to limbs that were not there.