If I kept killing him, kept forcing that cursed pendant to drag him back, sooner or later it would run out of whatever fuel it was devouring.
There would be nothing left for it to take, nothing left of him to stitch together.
I narrowed my gaze, my grip on Gravefang tightening.
The thing standing in front of me wasn't Amon anymore.
There was no trace of the shaman I had once fought, no hint of reason or restraint.
His eyes burned with animal madness, his movements jerky and unnatural, his aura screaming of corruption.
Whatever he had been, whatever thoughts had guided him, they were gone.
What stood before me was just a feral beast wearing Amon's skin.
Blood surged around him, twisting and lengthening, until it coiled into whips sharpened into blades.
With a snap, they lashed out, slicing toward me with a speed that blurred the air itself.
I leapt back instinctively, boots gouging furrows into the dirt as I put distance between us.
