Retreating from the shoreline, Isiah backed away until he sank onto the cold, black sand. The beach felt entirely desolate, void of any present life or movement.
The serpent made no attempt to slither away. It remained coiled in place, staring at him intently as though it hadn't just inflicted a violent strike. Meanwhile, intense agony throbbed through Isiah's hand. The twin puncture marks were defined and oozing crimson droplets. While the physical pain was tolerable, the horrifying probability of neurotoxic venom coursing through his bloodstream filled him with deep apprehension.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Isiah attempted to evaluate his odds. The serpent was small, which suggested its venom yield might not be potent enough to prove fatal to a modified host. At least, that was the logical assumption he clung to.
