He moaned weakly when his eyes found me, and no words followed, just a faint sound that was more breath than voice.
He couldn't even speak anymore
I couldn't even muster hatred anymore. Only pity.
I'd already accepted there was no saving him the moment he let that black corruption take over. Whatever Jael had become back there—it wasn't him. And now, even that twisted version had been burned out completely. What was left was nothing more than a body waiting to die.
No potion, no healing skill, no miracle would change that. His life was slipping away second by second, the light behind his eyes dimming as the minutes passed.
He was going to die slowly, painfully.
And for all the destruction he'd caused, I didn't see the point in letting that happen.
The least I could do—for him, for myself—was to make it quick.
I drew [Gravefang] from its sheath.
The blade hummed faintly in my grip, its edge catching the faint glint of sunlight filtering through the clouds.
