The man abruptly stopped laughing.
His expression slowly changed as he turned toward the corpse lying behind him.
The body was still there, its blood continuing to flow across the ruined ground, and everything about it looked exactly as it should have looked after the death of a god.
He had felt the soul when he attacked her, felt the presence within that body and the resistance of her existence when his dagger pierced through her neck.
That was precisely why he had been so confident in his attack. He had not merely struck an empty shell or some superficial illusion; he had sensed a genuine soul within it.
Yet now, from behind him, he could clearly feel her presence.
Ian's throat tightened, slowly, he turned around.
Destiny was standing there.
She wore the same pink robe, not a single trace of blood upon it, and a smile rested upon her lips as she watched him.
Her crimson eye was glowing brightly, so intensely that Ian instinctively narrowed his eyes.
