The chains fell silent.
For a moment the chamber did not react, as if the tower itself refused to accept what had just happened. Then the glow in the hanging chains flickered, crimson dimming to a sickly rust, before shattering entirely. Metal clattered to the floor like dead serpents.
The High Prophet's body twitched once.
Then it began to come apart.
Cracks of pale light spread from the point where Broken Bonds had pierced him, crawling across his chest, his throat, his face. His mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound came.
The disintegration did not consume him violently. Instead, a maw rose from the shadows and devoured him.
A fourth class powerhouse.
Erased.
The sword drank deep.
Damon stood there for several seconds, swaying slightly, blood still pouring from the ruin carved across his torso. His shadow peeled itself off the pillar and slid back beneath his feet, merging seamlessly, as if it had never left.
