"Wha…" Crimson's voice faltered as his head turned in disbelief.
The teleportation talisman slipped from his trembling fingers, tumbling end over end before landing on the stone floor with a brittle clink.
His lips parted, coughing out a fresh stream of blood that dribbled down his chin, the coppery scent flooding the air.
And then his eyes went wide.
"You…!"
Standing behind him was John, alive, breathing, and wearing an expression that was cold as tempered steel. There was no hint of relief or triumph in his face, only grim resolve. His black sword was already buried deep through Crimson's chest, its edge glinting faintly with a wet sheen of blood.
"Killing me," John said, his voice low but cutting through the tension like a blade, "isn't that easy."
