He wants to tear his own hands off.
Instead, the Decay tightens.
The scream cuts off.
Elyssara skids to a halt beside him, horror flashing across her face. Not fear for herself.
Fear forhim.
She sees the excess—the gratuitous violence that exists in place of a merciful warrior’s end. Of what Kael would normally give another soldier.
This isn’t him. He tries to claw through the glass, but still, he’s trapped. Trapped within himself. But the Decay shoves him down:this is me.
A building explodes inward as shadow rips through its facade, dragging two guards out through stone and mortar like dolls yanked from a child’s grasp. They hit the street already dead.
And pleasure snakes up Kael’s spine at the beauty of all this death.
He turns slowly.
He surveys the street.
Threats neutralized.
No witnesses remaining.
Probability of future retaliation: high.
Adjust parameters.
Eliminate variables.
Kael steps over the threshold of Azhareth—he’s on the Inside. But he doesn’t stop.
Elyssara’s composure cracks, sucking in a gasp of horror.
“No,” she breathes, realization slamming into her like ice water.
Because Kael is not finished.He is hunting.
“No—Kael, stop.”
He doesn’t.
He can’t.
The Decay shifts, seeking the next target.
A figure stumbles out from a side passage—too small, too unarmed, too slow.
Elyssara moves before thought catches up to instinct.
Shethrowsherself into him.
He slams into the gritty stone wall, surprised by the movement.
He bares his teeth, pure animal.
The figure moves slowly, caught outside his awareness—a shadow in his peripheral vision. But Elyssara grips his face, forcing his gaze to hers, breaking the line of sight the Decay had already chosen.
