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Malika pushed forward with single-minded focus. She would complete her task, with Orthael's help or without it. It mattered not to her which way the work at hand was done.
She passed through the clearing where moments before she had just performed her ballet of death. She was surprised at just how many bodies littered the ground in a circular pattern around where she had stood and fought. Dozens of Lycanders lay dead, broken and ruined, relieved forever of their neverending curse. Malika looked as she passed, feeling no remorse for their deaths, only pity. These were neither Dead nor Deathless. Instead, they were merely mortals unfortunate enough to have been afflicted by their shapeshifting forms.
The forest around her was silent now. Her dance of death had been completed, and now there were either none left to challenge her or none brave enough to face her. Just as well. The fury she had previously felt had now dimmed to a cold anger.
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As silently as the High Angel before it, Judgement whispered echoes of its past to Orthael. There ha…That Which is Given
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