He looks at the knife.

It just sits there.

He's not sure how to do this. He's killed hundreds of demons before. He's staked numerous
vampires.

But he's never killed a human.

Picking it up, he places it against his throat. The cool steel sends his heart beating faster.
Ragged breathing as he pushes harder, feeling it cut into his skin. This is what it has been
invented for, to cut flesh.

He can hear the drops of blood splat as they cascade to the floor. The bitter pain fills his
mouth, fills his lungs.

It fills him.

Exit Xander.