I
was no longer looking at a woman.
I was looking at a fucking goddess. A goddess of death and vengeance and utter, indiscriminate destruction. She could be nothing else– standing there in her white jacket so spattered with blood that it soaked crimson, sword raised, those scarlet butterflies forming a cape around her shoulders.
“Ascended above,” I rasped to Sammerin. “Did I look like that?”
“Yes,” he said. “You did.”
The butterflies clogged the air, spreading down the halls. And when Tisaanah straightened, the wooden floorboards blackened beneath her every step.
The slaver that I was fighting blanched and stumbled, eyes wide. I took the opportunity to run one searing slash across his throat, never looking away from her.
“Incredible,” I heard Zeryth gasp.
The remaining slavers, at least the ones close enough to get the full effect of what they were up against, began retreating.
Or at least, they were trying. But they didn’t get far. She pulled them back with invisible tugs, their flesh withering at the mere brush of her sword.
And her expression—
It wasn’t Tisaanah’s rage, her pain, or even a hint of angry satisfaction that met me when those mismatched eyes flicked to mine. No, it was something else. Empty, glazed-over glee.
That was Reshaye. Pure Reshaye.
The swarm of putrid butterflies grew so thick that I could only catch glimpses of her through their wings. One landed on Sammerin’s arm, and he hissed, wiping it away to reveal a smear of rot.
I grabbed Nura’s arm. “Get those people out of here,” I said urgently, jerking my chin toward the rows of rooms that held the slaves. “Through a window if you have to.”
My words were nearly drowned out by a howling screech as Tisaanah—Reshaye—rotted another slaver alive. Only a few were left now.
I issued the same command to the two Syrizen, who went flickering off into the opposite direction.
Tisaanah turned around. I saw those empty, unfamiliar eyes settle on one of the ajar doors. I heard the whimpers of fear coming from inside.
And I didn’t — couldn’t — give myself one sorry second to think before I leapt in front of her, my staff crossing her path.
Her beautiful mouth spread into a bloody, furious grin as her accentless voice hissed, “Move, Maxantarius.”
