William didn't give the bastard the grace of a duel. He didn't offer him the chance to stand, to plead, or to weave a single counter-spell. Before the newly formed body could even draw its first breath of stolen life, William's monsters were upon him.
William himself didn't strike; he remained a few paces back, his eyes narrowed and vigilant, scanning the spiritual ripples for any final, hidden trick.
But there was no trick left. Without his divided essence to act as a safety net, the man was merely flesh and bone. The monsters descended like a localised hurricane of teeth and claws. The man fell, his life snuffed out in a brutal, efficient instant, leaving nothing but a broken shell on the cooling earth.
Silence reclaimed the valley, broken only by the settling of the dust.
"For the fallen ones," William murmured.
