Jarah could hardly breathe. Her largest feeling was one of shock: Her vision swam and she found it hard to keep upright. Not only because the exhaustion she'd pushed through had returned, but because she couldn't seem to make herself steady. Slumping to one side, she stared at Lillah--Kimhan? No, she was Lillah--and let the tears slide down her cheeks.
"You're back. You're back. How did you…" Before any of the thousand questions could be answered, she felt something hard press against the nape of her neck. "I am sorry for your loss, Jarah," said Honu. "But I can't let you be with your girl." Jarah knew she couldn't move; if she did, Honu would blow a hole through her neck larger than a stone. She swallowed, the tears still fresh. "Why can't you let her be?" "She's the key. I originally thought it was the legend, but when it showed the Blade, I knew there were more pieces. After all, the map showed Kimhan as one of the things I needed." In a flash, Jarah remembered how little Kimhan had wanted the map to work. At first she thought it was because she really was afraid of the Blade. But it also must have shown Honu that Kimhan was important, too. "It's a sorry thing, I know, but it's necessary," said Honu, stepping around and taking the Blade out of Jarah's unresisting fingers. "But we have to stop the madness that reincarnation brings. People never stop to savor their lives, always assuming that they'll be able to make a better life than this one if they could just reincarnate." "People don't throw their lives away, Honu," said Jarah, her heart hammering so hard she almost couldn't hear her own voice. "You're wrong." "No, sadly, I'm not. By getting rid of this madness of Invoking gods and goddesses, of living our one lives and then moving out of the way, we will be restoring order to the way things ought to be. The gods should be in control, not us." Jarah glared at Honu, whose face was a rapture of zeal as she contemplated a hopeless future. How could people be expected to live if they had no hope for more? The smallest child, forced to be an Athakar and retrieve deadly toxins, often died before reaching more than ten or twelve years. Was that to be their entire fate, their whole existence? Fury began to build inside of her at the thought. "She has to go. If Kimhan dies by this--" and Honu raised the still-sheathed Blade "--it will finish the fracture that you began all those years ago. It will close off the return path from the AfterWorld to here; we will at last begin to usher people into a lasting, permanent peace." "No," said Jarah, her hands tightening as she summoned the final dregs of resolve. "It won't happen." "I'm sorry, Jarah," said Honu, shifting the gunbow to her shoulder. "It has to. This madness has gone on long enough." "On that we can agree," said Jarah, and she drove the needle into her leg. She had palmed the vial when scurrying on the ground, thinking to use it against Tenhaim. Now, however, she felt this was the better time to use it. Instantly, the exhaustion fled and rivers of energy began to course through her. With a leap she was off her knees and had already knocked the Blade free of Honu's unexpecting hands by the time the zealot had enough sense to throw a punch and block an attack. The two women didn't pause after that, exchanging blows and kicks with expert alacrity. Honu's training and Jarah's Infused strength were evenly matched, however, and neither woman was able to gain an upper hand. At last, Honu caught a hanging fist and spun Jarah around. She landed flat on her back, the air rushing from her lungs. As she hit the ground, the last of her ichor vials rolled free, bouncing its way free of the fight. Jarah saw stars and she couldn't find the air she needed. Honu dropped down on top of her, the vest she'd been wearing torn from the fight. "I'm done with you," she snarled, eyes alight with a frenzied fury. Fingers scrabbled over Jarah's throat, tearing shallow slices from her cheeks as Jarah desperately tried to fend off the zealot. Then a booted foot cracked against the side of Honu's face, sending her sprawling, semi-conscious, on the dirty cavern floor. "And to think," said Rihn through gritted teeth, "I used to think you were cute." Jarah blinked as she stared at the former fighter. "You…you thought she was attractive?" He gave an embarrassed shrug. "Well, yeah." "Huh." Rolling onto her elbows and knees, Jarah drew some deep breaths. Honu wasn't dead--despite the well-laced kick, Jarah could see Honu's chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm--but she wasn't likely to come at them in the next bit. She could actually catch her breath. "What took you so long?" "I…think Tenhaim broke some ribs," said Rihn, wincing as he spoke. "I'm sorry it took as long as it did. You seemed to be holding out pretty well, you know…" A scuffle and a yelp drew their attention to Lillah, who was still beside the pool. A furious and vindictive looking Tenhaim stood behind her, the Blade held against the girl's neck, breathing heavily. "Enough." And with that, he drew the Blade against Lillah's neck.
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The whiteness of the explosion of deific force in her memory seemed to travel through time; Jarah became of a brightness in the cavern that seemed to be emanating from her.
Consciousness streamed into her mind with a host of pains, aches, and heartbreaks. She had forgotten how she'd lost Lillah. She had forgotten that moment of terror as she saw her precious girl snatched away by a goddess and killed. How could she have lost that memory? But she knew, even as she asked herself the question, what had happened: Deicide. By killing that acolyte the way she had, she had broken the pact between Theopolis and the mortal realm, had fractured the path back to life from the AfterWorld. The Blade--whatever else it might be--was clearly a weapon designed for the killing of deities. Guilt washed over her. The dim memories and true knowledge of what she'd done crashed against each other. She had been carrying with her the understanding that it was her fault the world was broken: That much had been true. How and why she'd broken it, however, had never been anything that she could recognize. It had simply been a fact, like the slant of her eyes or the color of her hair--an unassailable reality of her guilt. Now, at least, she knew. The pain of losing her daughter threatened to pull her into an abyss of grief and sorrow from which she would, she knew, have no desire to swim away from. But a voice cut through her despair, pulling her back to full consciousness and life. It was Tenhaim. And he was laughing derisively. "That's it?" he asked. Jarah blinked as the whiteness of her memory receded and the cavern came back into focus. She lay on the ground, the Blade next to her--as well as her dropped weapons--the pain in her chest from where she'd been pierced now a fading ache. All of her hurts from the past few hours were no longer as present. The laugh returned, filled with malice and disbelief. "Your daughter died so you broke the world?" Whatever hesitation or contemplation had been plaguing Tenhaim before he threw the Blade was gone. He stood, hands on broad hips, laughing at Jarah--mocking her pain. "I would have hoped," he said, swaggering toward her, "to at least have seen some worthwhile reason for making this world a ragged shell of its past self. If you'd done it for, say, money or power, I could understand that. But a little girl?" He made a crude sound. "There's more sport in making a girl than having one, and you could've made another one if you hadn't been so drastic." The implications that he was making made her head swim and Jarah's heart began to pound more forcefully. "She was my daughter," said Jarah, her voice cracked and dry. Tenhaim stalked closer, stooping down to retrieve the Blade. "Yeah, I got that much. We all saw what happened." He shook his head and smirked. "I really didn't think it would be such a pathetic motivation, that's all. I'm disappointed in you, Jarah." Walking toward the pool while she tried to get up, Honu at her side to help her, Tenhaim continued, "But I guess I can't be too upset about that. I mean, the result is pretty clear. If you want to ruin everything for everyone, stab this stupid thing into the ichor of an Invoked goddess--or god, I'd assume." Jarah pulled away from Honu's assisting arm. "You killed my daughter," she hissed. Seeing the woman now, she was older than in Jarah's memory--no surprise, that--but she also understood something that she hadn't before: Honu, whose religion had always been irrelevant to Jarah, was part of the Terminus Cult. "Don't touch me." Jarah wished she had the energy to kill Honu right there, but though she no longer suffered the pain of her injuries, whatever had happened that had pulled the past out of her had drained all of her energy reserves. Jarah couldn't even regain her feet; she had to settle with resting on her knees. "This has been an incredible day. I'm glad I didn't kill you before," Tenhaim said as he stood at the lip of the pool. "Your memory there put a lot of pieces together for me that I didn't fully understand." He chuckled. "I was originally thinking that this pool was part of the bowels of the planet. Now I see that it's actually a vestige of the Breaking of the World--this is the ichor from Lythra that was caught up in the original blast that came from the Blade." He nodded when he saw her confused expression. "Oh, yes, I knew that there had been some sort of explosion. It rearranged some of the land, caused a massive earthquake…and even this place here." "What do you want with us now? Why don't you do what you were thinking of doing and be done with it?" asked Honu, her jaw set and her eyes fiery. Jarah drew in a breath. What was Honu trying to do? Get them killed sooner? The longer he mumbled to himself, the more time she had to regain her energy. Though, at the rate she was going, Jarah doubted she'd be able to do anything for some days. "I…I don't know," said Tenhaim. He had replaced the Blade into its sheath and then tucked it into his sash again. The guards stared at Jarah in distrust. Rihn lay in the same position, inert. "I like to savor rare moments, yes?" He drew a finger across his eye. "It's revenge…" He paused. "My eye." Jarah looked up at him, surprised at the awe in his voice. Then she saw what he realized--his eye was whole, returned. A scar still traced where her dagger had slit him, but it wasn't nearly as clear as it had been when she'd arrived in the cavern. Her injuries were gone, too, though still vestigial pains let her know where she'd been healed. Was it the Blade that had done that? Clearly, something about the Blade was special--but she already knew that. And if she were healed, and so was Tenhaim, then that might mean that Rihn… Before she knew what was happening, Tenhaim was on the ground. In his marveling over what happened to his face, he had drifted too close to Rihn, who now lashed out with his legs, toppled the large man to the cavern floor. The sound of Tenhaim's air rushing out of his lungs made Jarah smile, if only a little. Rihn was on the slumlord in a moment, punching and kicking and grappling for the Blade that was underneath Tenhaim's girth. The guards reacted instantly, jumping forward to stop Rihn's attack. Honu leveled her gunbow and triggered it, sending an explosive bolt toward the guard on the left. The man took the shot to the shoulder, spinning around and crying out in pain as he dropped to the ground. Rihn saw the charging guard and jumped free of Tenhaim, moving away from the slashing qiang. He stumbled back a few paces until he was even with Jarah. He bent down to help her to her feet. "You've looked better," he said, picking up one of the discarded butterfly swords while gently lifting her. "You're at about your best level," retorted Jarah. Her knees bent strangely and only Rihn's presence kept her from toppling. For his part, Tenhaim's guard had helped him to his feet. Blood trickled from a cut on his lip. "You have made a mistake, Rihn." "I'm not a man who makes solid choices, Tenahim." "Clearly." Tenhaim gestured at Kimhan, who was still bound and gagged on the floor. "Kill the girl." "No!" shouted Jarah, raising one hand as if that could stop the inevitable. It was happening again--her useless denial, the approaching death to a little girl whom she had promised to protect. The anger was strong, was hot, was galvanizing. Jarah stumbled forward, using her hands to keep herself upright as she sprinted forward. There wasn't anything in her body, yet she pushed herself onward. She had to…she couldn't fail again. Tenhaim easily intercepted her, wrapping a large arm around Jarah's waist and pinning her arms as he did so. Jarah tried to scream, but she'd done too much in running the few paces forward she had. It was over. "Bring the girl here," demanded the slumlord, wrenching Jarah about. "Let Jarah see the light leave Kimhan's eyes. I don't know why I kept that stupid Akathar for so long, but I can at least extract some pleasure from her death." Jarah struggled feebly. Behind her, she heard Rihn charge; effortlessly, Tenhaim kicked out, knocking Rihn down with a cough and a curse. "Don't insult me, Rihn. You may be a worthwhile teka, but you're not much of a fighter." "Honu," gurgled Rihn, "help!" The guard dragged the resisting Kimhan in front of Jarah. "Don't count on her, Rihn," Tenhaim said with a snort. "She's as eager for this girl to die as I am. Aren't you, Honu?" Jarah's mind whirled. Had she been right originally? Was Honu a traitor? Then she realized the truth: As a member of the Terminus Cult, Honu had only one reason for wanting the Blade, for being involved at all. The world wasn't broken enough. Anger at herself for having believed Honu at all, as well as fury for the past transgression, and now again for her failure to help--it was almost too much. She choked and writhed, a second wind giving her strength, Jarah kicked out. The action took the guard by surprise, who lurched off balance when Jarah struck her. With a shriek, she splashed into the pool where she promptly sank while struggling to tear off her armor. She failed. Tenhaim, also surprised, loosened his grip just enough that Jarah was able to stomp down on his booted foot hard enough to hear it crack. Shoving him off her with as much righteous anger as she could, Jarah snagged the Blade free from his sash as the slumlord fell, gripping his injured foot with one hand. Without hesitating, Jarah swiped at the ropes holding Kimhan, the Blade slicing through the hemp as easily as if it were thread. Jarah tugged the gag free from her mouth and then wrapped the little girl in a hug. "I promised you you'd be safe with me. I promised you." "Mama," said Kimhan, her voice choked with anxious tears. "You came. You came." Jarah held Kimhan at arm's length as if she were reading the girl's face. Now that she looked at her again, in light of the memories she'd had, Kimhan didn't just look like Lillah. She looked exactly like Lillah the moment that Lythra had tugged her into the sky. Jarah's heart stuttered. "Wait," she said, hesitant to believe despite wanting desperately to do so. "Wait, you're…you are my Lillah, aren't you?" Kimhan sniffed away some of her tears. "Yes, mama. I'm back." Many Years Ago Jarah looked her daughter in the eye and said, "Remember, child: The Gods are under our control." Lillah stared, her pale face tear- and sweat-streaked. She swallowed back her fear. "Yes, mama." Jarah smiled, her heart breaking. Lillah's bravery was strong, despite her few years. She was on her first birth. How many mothers could say that their child was truly their own? How had those seven years gone so quickly? Jarah still thought of Lillah as a babe, nestled against her breast and sleeping the emphatic sleep of the newborn. Lillah had been a bright, happy child, a streak of light in the darkness of a world falling apart. The Unraveling had happened; the End of Times. The end of the world. Lillah had been born in time to see that. That she would stand strong against that reality made Jarah's matronly heart swell with pride. Overhead, the sky--already a prism of dark colors, each clashing among violent black clouds--seemed to crumble. "There's another dead," she said, stepping out from beneath the rock, worry thick in her heart. Dying now meant she would never make it back to the world. They had too little time left. If the world broke, no one could ever return. That was the cold reality. The broken sky quivered, then began to realign itself. Wind tore about her and Lillah, nearly knocking them to the grass-covered hillside as it congealed into a solid form. "Lythra," Jarah whispered, shocked, the Goddess of Despair feeling an apt choice at this moment. "Who is controlling you?" She looked at token on her vial, clicking it through the options. Some of the sigils were gray, an indication that the deity was already in the mortal realm. One of them was blood-red. Her hand trembled. Lillah looked at her with fear and worry. "They killed Kurnos," she said to her daughter, her voice hoarse. "Don't you mean dismissed?" asked Lillah. She had learned much from her mother in their short years together. She knew enough that gods didn't die...usually. "Deicide," said Jarah. "The killing of the gods." "Who would kill the gods or goddesses?" asked Lillah, a streak of blood on her forehead congealing in the cut from when a piece of a boulder exploded beneath the theopolemic between Tlemnon and Anylla. They had been fortunate to escape to this place in the steppes--far enough from where most of the fighting was happening. Jarah glanced up at Lythra, who now had enough air to form three legs. This was no normal Invocation: There were multiple teka pulling the Goddess of Despair here. "Those who want to stop reincarnation, love. Those who think we deserve only one life, and a short one at that." Lillah's eyes diamonded with tears. "Why?" "That much, my love, I cannot understand myself." Jarah watched Lythra's claws shimmer into a windy reality. While she could only guess how many teka were operating together--and how much ichor they had claimed to be able to manifest Lythra this way--Jarah knew that the deities would remain for less time. The teka involved would likely die to keep Lythra there. That kind of devotion could only be found in one religion: The Terminus Cult. They were keen on stopping the constant recycling of souls. Only by keeping all of humanity in the AfterWorld--or so they believed--could peace ever be permanently attained. Fortunately for her, Jarah had a way to stop them… The earth to Jarah's left split with a gut-watering crack. Lillah almost fell. Jarah grabbed her daughter, steadying her. "Stay close to me," she said. Lillah nodded against her mother's side, eyes closed. About them, the wind howled. "I'm scared!" she shouted. "I know!" Jarah gave her a squeeze. "Stay strong for me. We'll find shelter--" Before she could finish her poor excuse for a promise, the crack that had opened near them surged. The ground roiled with what looked like maggots, all a fiery orange. They spasmed, pulverizing the stones nearby. It sounded like a pot of grease sizzling, only louder. Dust drifted up from each new abuse, only to whip away toward Lythra. The Goddess of Despair--where terror and grief intersected--had finished her formation. Jarah remembered then, the first thing she'd learned as a teka: When mortals fought, creation died. Someone had brought out Orgos, God of Rage, his size and power more than she had ever seen done. Whoever was fighting the Terminus Cult was equally committed. A guttural groan tore through the air, louder than the whirling wind or the crushing rocks. In a burst of sound that she felt more than heard, Jarah and Lillah slipped and tumbled over, landing in a painful heap on a stony precipice. Like a mound of writhing snakes, each a searing orange that turned and writhed on top of each other, Orgos rose to engage with his hated enemy, Lythra. Of course, he only hated her because the different teka insisted he did. The two would fight because they were forced to. There was nothing more powerful than fate or a teka, so far as a deity was concerned. Jarah reached about to the small of her back. There, tucked in tightly on her belt, was the Blade. If she could just find one of the teka Invoking the deities and spill their blood on that Blade, she would break the connection. It would liberate the gods and save the world. At least, that was the assumption. She had cornered more than one theologian to demand if her hypothesis was correct. Most thought she was right; some thought it would do nothing. A few thought it impossible--that the goddess or god would intervene to protect the teka. Some argued it would destroy the world, an idea that made Jarah laugh. With the Unraveling happening anyway, what did they stand to lose? Kill the teka, kill the god… Deicide. Jarah swallowed. She'd never done that before. Lythra reached out with one of Her right hands and grabbed Orgos. Her left claw sharpened and drove itself into Orgos' main mass. The Goddess of Despair wrenched her claw free--a two-pronged claw with a joint in the middle at least as tall as Jarah--tearing a gash in Orgos' writhing body. A spray of orange worms and the dark ichor of a god cascaded down, drenching the area with its viscous fluids. Jarah gasped and covered her head, the heat from the ichor burning at her flesh. In a panic, Jarah grabbed Lillah and hurled herself from the rocky precipice, leaving the verdure behind her to melt in the puddle of a God's blood. Not too far away, Jarah had crossed a shallow stream to get to where she thought she and Lillah might be safe. She returned to that same stream now, splashing in to quench the stinging pain. Her fur-lined hat slipped off her head. The thick fibers of the fur had caught a great deal of the scarring ichor, protecting much of her face. The large overskirt that went from shoulders to her knees likewise absorbed the danger. She had not put her hands back into their leather gloves after using her token--a mistake she now suffered for. The pain in her hands glowed, and she could swear she heard her skin hiss. A quick glance to Lillah showed that she was untouched; her mother had shielded her from the acidic blood. The water calmed the pain and washed the ichor away easily. Lillah was crying, clearly scared by what had just happened. Standing up from the stream, Jarah felt much of her outer clothing slough off, molting into the stream with a gurgle as the ichor choked in the water. She ignored it. The cold bite of the wind made her teeth chatter. "Don't worry, my sweet. We'll solve this. Come, they can't be far." As the theopolemic clashed, she and her daughter scurried to find one of the teka in control. Theomancy relied on proximity emotion. The teka had to be close. Out of the corner of her eye, Jarah saw Orgos lose another chunk of himself to Lythra's claws--her other five hands swung down in punishing arcs, smashing away more and more of Orgos' form. Lythra lunged at him, her two forefeet landing with an earth-trembling crash. Her human-like hands reached out, grasping. The large claw, each snap sending a miniature gale outward, thundered as it swung in. Orgos opened a hole in Himself, letting the claw pass through uninhibited. Not connecting with her target threw Lythra off balance, and she fell into Orgos' multi-tendril embrace. Hot pseudopodia, like flaming tongs of a whip, spun about the Goddess of Despair, catching themselves in her wind while melting her. The hole in Orgos' center sealed tightly, burning through her arm and sending the claw crashing toward the earth in a mist of dark ichor. The ground vibrated with the Goddess' pain and fury. Hands, each finger longer than a horse, grasped at Orgos' amorphous being, tearing away chunks in geysers of ichor. Not too far away, armies raged, cannon belched, gunarchers fletched, and soldiers' qiang pierced through ranks of enemies. On this hillock, only the howling of the wind, the mourning of the gods and the tremors of their power could be felt. Lillah tugged at her hand, pointing. "Momma! Look!" Jarah turned, staring in the indicated direction. There, nestled in a nearby valley, was a collection of people, dressed in acolytes' robes, standing in a circle. In the center was a large saucer, filled to the brim with ichor, which simmered as they Invoked the necessary emotions. They were controlling one of the deities. "Come on," said Jarah, scurrying forward with her daughter close by. "We can end this." Behind her, she heard Orgos rage. She spared a glimpse over one shoulder and saw a tendril the width and length of a tree formed off to one side, sweeping toward Lythra at a blinding speed. The goddess took the blow with one arm, the limb severing at the shoulder. The mass of whirling colors and wind from which the limbs came shuddered at the impact, and a gush of ichor spiraled away from the lost arm. This limb, too, dissolved in a gush of air upon striking the ground. Puddles of ichor hissed as they bubbled and eroded the battlefield, chewing at rock and grass with equal relish. Orgos' tendril, however, had not finished the attack without damage to it. Where the pseudopod had connected, a massive crack formed, shattering the length of the stiffened form. From each crack jetted more ichor, the dark fluid falling like rain. If she didn't end this quickly, she'd drown in an acidic flood. Redoubling her speed, she charged closer to the ditch where the acolytes huddled. Wind whipped her hair as she ran, making her shiver again; she ignored it--ignored where the ichor had melted through her clothing, leaving sensitive skin exposed, ignored the cold heat in her hands where she could almost feel scars forming. She had to stop it. She had to kill the teka in the act of Invoking a goddess or god. That was the only way. Her only hope. Lillah stumbled, skidding her knee on the ground and crying out. Jarah's momentum was enough that Lillah's hand tore free of her mother's, Jarah taking three large steps before being able to stop. It wasn't much. Only a moment or so. But Lillah's cry broke one of the teka's concentration--they were now almost in their midst, there was no way they couldn't see the would-be attackers as they came down the hill--and Jarah saw an instantaneous decision flicker over the female teka's face. The hand of a goddess--the palm bigger than an emperor's tent--stretched toward Lillah, the edges shimmering as air created the form. "No!" It was a worthless word shouted more to deny reality than stop what was about to happen. Jarah reached out, straining to get to her daughter. Lillah held her hands out. Their fingers almost touched. Then the hand closed around her and Jarah felt the air rush free of her lungs as her daughter was swept up into the mouth of a goddess. The swirling vortex that enveloped her little form soon bore Lillah from sight, the wind rushing past Jarah also freeing tears from them and robbing her mouth of air. She felt the pressure of suffocation pushing into her chest. Panic and despair--the delightful flavor that Lythra so relished--surging through her. Lillah disappeared from sight. Jarah dropped to the ground, her grief so sharp that she each body-wracking cry stabbed her heart. Lillah was gone. Dead. Stolen. As much as Lythra relished the despair rolling through Jarah's body, it was nothing compared to the surge of rage that Orgos suddenly received from the same source. Orgos lurched forward, unhinging his jaws. With a mouth large enough to swallow half a dozen horses, Orgos bit through Lythra's turbulent midsection, tearing the windy iteration of Lythra in half. Yet the goddess didn't disappear--her teka wouldn't dismiss her. That meant the teka who had ordered Lythra to kill Lillah were still trying to get the goddess to fight. They were nearby, just behind her… Without pausing to think, to consider, Jarah regained her feet, unsheathed the Blade--that familial heirloom about which she had heard so much--and dove at the hunkered teka. They were distracted, trying to get their goddess to obey when they died. The first lost her throat, the second was unseamed about the belly. The third lost a hand when he put it up to stop Jarah's bloody retribution, then was kicked into the ichor-holding saucer. His body instantly started to sizzle as he screamed and writhed in the torment of his body being dissolved. In a pique of fury, she drove the Blade deep into the man's chest, pinning him in the large saucer. Ichor splashed over her, over the Blade, over the man. She didn't care. The remaining three teka fell back, their concentration too shattered to matter to Lythra, who lay on the ground, hemorrhaging her ichor onto the steppes. Two began to run, their eyes wide with panic. "Come on!" said one to the final teka, a woman who stared at Jarah with contemplative eyes. The woman took a step back when her friend tugged on her sleeve. "Leave her, Honu. It's over. Let's go!" The woman called Honu, without breaking eye contact with Jarah, retreated a half dozen steps before turning and running away. Sobs overcame her exhaustion and pain, and Jarah sank to her knees, hot tears coursing down her now-scarred cheeks. A wordless scream of rage at the injustices of the world broke from her, a cry that seemed to echo and reverberate over the battlefield. A dim sense that she needed to protect herself, to wipe away the ichor, pushed its way forward. It was only then that she saw the Blade. Driven almost up to its hilt in the sternum of the dead teka, strings of blood and ichor swirled up its blade and handle. From wherever the ichor touched the green metal of the Blade, a light began to glow. The body, rapidly melting with a horrendous stench to accompany it, sank lower. Jarah swallowed, looking over at the corpse of a goddess as it, too, began to glow--no, almost burst--with the same quality of light. A loud crack, one that was powerful enough to make her think that the world had just broken in two, shattered the air. The Blade billowed out a bright light, and then Jarah could remember nothing else. |
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