Could my life get any crazier?
I should have known better than to ask, even inside my own head, because the universe has a sense of humor and it is not a kind one. But for the moment nothing answered me, just the chill deepening in my soul, as I stood on the roof of a rising god's prison.
I hung in the black, gasping, the cold of the void pressing against my skin like a thousand needles. The pyramid continued its impossible ascent beneath me, a thirty-kilometer spear of ancient stone thrusting into the darkness between stars. Something about its momentum had changed; I did not think the Pale Matron was pushing it any longer, but she had already accomplished her desire, and one part of her prison had returned to the void, but the only problem was that it was now empty.
I fell on my back, gasping in pain, as the wound in my shoulder was still weeping silver blood, the flesh raw and torn where the Thul's teeth had been buried, as my shoulder chose to remind me that it was in ruin.
