He stood alone again. His breath came in slow, even draws. He looked down at the bodies strewn around him, then at his own reflection in the puddle forming at his feet. The face staring back wasn't human anymore.
"Is this what you wanted?" he muttered, looking up toward the storm, toward whatever Celestial still dared to watch. "Is this your divine plan?"
Thunder answered him.
He turned away, walking toward the faint red glow still emanating from the distant dome—the heart of the opposing camp. Baldur's death would create a vacuum, and vacuums in war were always filled quickly.
Cain's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll keep cutting until there's no one left to fill it."
And as the storm roared around him, the battlefield swallowed his silhouette once more.
