It was the seventh time the mosquito was flying past his face, this time he snarled at it with his hands and felt the wings as he cupped it in one hand. With faith it was caught inside his tightly cupped hand, he brandished the mosquito tear gas in excitement, released the gas into a small opening on the hands.
After about five minutes, he opened his hands expecting to see a dead mosquito, but the only thing that happened was the release of a bad odor meant only for the singing devil-fairies