Charon frowned as he crossed under the iron city gates. Their twisting metal rods reached towards the black, overcast sky.
A flicker of red lightning briefly lit them up, highlighting the bleak material they were made from.
'Alastor converted even the metal.'
He didn't need to wonder about what would happen if he tried to do the same to a person; he had seen it firsthand. They were annihilated completely, with nothing left to salvage.
'That was probably the better fate. Only the gods know if Ceris or the others retained their sentience. I'd hope not, I'd rather be dead than live a life as an unwilling slave machine, strapped to my master's side to do whatever he wished.'
As they walked over the cobbled streets, Charon couldn't help but recognize parts of the town from the visions.
'I remember the militia retreating this way, Alastor's men chasing them down without mercy. Some of those men were just teenagers, about my age.'
