"And in this new order," he said, his hand moving to the saber at his side, "not even death itself is the end."
He drew his saber.
The crowd flinched backward. Soldiers raised weapons. A woman screamed.
Quinlan held the blade at his side and spoke a single phrase that rolled across the square like distant thunder.
"[Eternal Damnation]."
The saber's edge ignited with pale blue light.
Every soul he had the right to claim since the siege began had been held in suspension. He hadn't activated the collection. Every fallen defender, every soldier whose life had ended under his army's advance, their departing essence had lingered at the edge of the saber's pull, uncollected, waiting.
He'd left them waiting on purpose.
