The Rise of the Marked

The supernatural world is ending, whether we want it to or not. The only thing we can do is slow it down. This is the job of the marked; slow the conflict, destroy whoever you have to to do it, and never, under any circumstances, go by your own rules.
Live like you've never lived before.
Last until the end.

**********Excerpt*******
"By the way." I add
"3."
"This is gonna hurt."
"2."
"Like... a lot."
"1."
A gust of cold air whips past my face as the world goes dark, flashes of children playing, adults arguing and the old dying invade my head the split of a second, as soon as they appear they're gone. A shrill wail of a baby's first cry, to the squeal of its first word bounce around the walls of my brain, each collision, electrifying a neurone that transmits a gut-wrenching throb to the nape of my neck.
Severe burning encapsulates my body, the vibrations in a distant wail spurring on the feeling of my skin liquifying under the immense heat of a white hot furnace, dripping off like wax. The pain invigorating like the burst of adrenaline from an epi pen. The feeling of pure liquid nitrogen pumping through my veins causes me to double over, forehead resting on a sparse patch of dead grass. I squint, glaring in front of me, my other comrades gulping down air as if it were to be taken away at any minute. "Well that was fun." Liam pants.