I closed my eyes and let out a soft gasp. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement. The needle. It must have slipped out of my hand. 

Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace that I'd felt since...ever. But that was okay. It meant that there was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. Well, perhaps there would be a few, but they could always find others to extract their cruel, sadistic pleasure from. 

My last breath was rough and shallow, the last beat of my heart pitifully fail. I sank to the alley floor, eyes closing, welcoming the blessed nothingness of the end. 

Only...death was supposed to be dark, wasn't it? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods?

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Just seconds after the first clash, dead and dying inquisitors littered the courtyard. Fyren and Luke may have been suppressed, but the difference between them and the majority of our enemy was far more than levels could account for. Fyren's scaly hide repelled the arrows and swords of those beneath the sixth level, and that was before accounting for the wards I'd placed around him. When the occasional seventh-level inquisitors attack snuck through, it was rewarded by a gout of molten blood that splattered across the ground, melting armor, earth, and flesh. 


Chapter 897 - False Sun