The Weight of Choice
Footsteps away, Clara and Lane closed in on the last of the false villagers just as Victor's clash with Alibaba tipped toward its conclusion.
A low shake ran through the stone each time magic cracked nearby.
A figure paused where the fighting had been loudest, air moving in and out like tide on a quiet shore. Stillness held him even as dust settled around his boots.
Floating just above his head, six slender blades hung motionless in the air.
Then—
They moved.
The floating needles suddenly plunged into Victor's right arm.
Blood spilled instantly.
Alibaba noticed it.
The necromancer's hollow eye sockets flickered with interest.
"A weapon that drinks the blood of its wielder…"
His skeletal head tilted.
"Now that is something I have not seen in centuries."
But what happened next surprised him even more.
Black mana erupted around Victor.
It flowed outward like smoke rising from a battlefield of the dead.
Then it began forming shape.
A cloak.
