Merely an hour ago, he had slain with his own hands one of the Kapos they had marched behind in disciplined formation like a brood of ducklings; he believed he had tendered sufficient payment for a single diurnal cycle of tranquility. When everyone departed, when the green mist reunited with silence, Mel closed his eyes and began to draw deep breaths.
He was drawing breath with such ferocity that the air particles concealed by the green mist flew toward him as if pulled into a maelstrom.
Should he advance from his current locus, those paying him no heed might realize an anomaly was afoot; yet if he remained here, forging an immunity would prove arduous due to the venom's lack of density. The solution Mel devised was 'if I cannot move, let them come to me,' and he commenced by amplifying the volume of the venomous mist invading his vessel.
