Her trembling fingers traced the phantom wound where her head had been moments ago. Dark ichor dripped from her lips as she coughed, her breathing ragged. Confusion warped her usually serene face.
"Impossible…" she rasped. "That strike was... entirely made of murderous intent... Even my Authority shouldn't have—"
She cut herself off, eyes narrowing in a mix of awe and dawning fear as she looked down upon the monster below.
Alameck didn't even bother to glance back up at her.
Instead, he rolled his shoulders with a casual sigh, as though the effort had bored him. His clawed fingers flexed once more, radiating faint crackles of black lightning.
He spoke again, softly this time—but his voice carried with unnatural weight.
"I despise interruptions," he said. "It spoils the tension."
He looked to the apostles once more.
Alameck turned his head slightly, as if savoring the tension in the air, then glanced toward Alister with a devilish smirk.
"So, brother…"
