The flames slowly began to die down.
The fire halted at the edges of the houses — as though even the blaze had decided that the homes, part of the forest, and a small section of the woods had burned enough.
Zaber walked among the corpses. With every step, the blood-mixed soil beneath his feet squelched and grated. The air hung heavy with smells — iron, charred flesh, and the scent of terror that refused to dissipate.
He sank to one knee.
Over the first body he extended his palm.
The soul chain pierced slowly through the flesh, drawing the soul out.
This soul was small. Its colors dim, uneven, trembling. Torn by fear, its shape distorted.
Zaber consumed it.
Nothing happened.
No pleasure.
No relief.
Only… the void inside him stretched wider.
He frowned.
"Interesting…" he whispered.
Second corpse.
Third.
Fourth.
And all the rest.
