••{SERAPHINE'S POV}••
My feet lift off the ground as screams and steel clash beneath me.
The throne room is in total chaos.
Blood coats the marble floors in slick, dark pools, soaking into cracks that were once pristine.
I don't raise my hands.
I don't need to, because the blood answers me anyway.
It peels itself off the floor in thick ribbons, rising into the air like living serpents. It coils toward me, swirling around my body in waves before hardening. The liquid sharpens, darkening as it solidifies, forming dozens of long, lethal spears suspended at my back.
I extend one finger and the spears plunge downward.
They strike the traitors from every angle, punching through their heads, chests, shoulders, throats. Bodies jerk as the weapons impale them, pinning them to the floor, to pillars, to one another. Some of them scream. The others die before they get the chance.
I float forward through the carnage.
