Damon watched Matia kill and kill until the entire plaza was nothing but shattered sheets of ice and frozen blood.
The broken remains of the stillborn littered every inch of stone, their bodies piled so high they nearly reached the balcony where Damon stood.
Matia had slain hundreds. If Damon's true body were here, he would have devoured the remains without hesitation. Too bad he could not. His shadow had taken the shape of the formless flames that guarded his heart, and those flames found nothing here worth consuming.
Not that he could move them here anyway.
He was no closer to reconstructing his body. Nothing Matia left behind appealed to his shadow, and even if it had, he would have needed far more.
The sun was sinking lower, bleeding its cold light across the ruined plaza, yet the stillborn kept coming. More than before. Far more.
Matia did not stop. Frost poured from her wings in waves, each gust freezing the swarming horde. But she was not limitless.
