For the love of the goddess.
Which, in truth, wasn't much love at all since the goddess didn't give a damn about them.
And for the love of whoever was listening, calling something cursed "your precious" was never a good sign.
Damon glanced at the golden ornament.
A ruby red gem glowed faintly at its center. The shape was wrong somehow. It didn't look like a jewel.
It looked like an eye.
Before the knight who held it could even react, Damon closed his fist.
The shadow in his hand crumpled like paper.
The knight froze.
His eyes went dim.
And then he died.
Just like that.
His body collapsed to the ground without a wound on it, the golden ornament slipping from his fingers and clinking softly against the deck.
Damon had crushed his shadow.
It was an insidious way to die. Damon imagined it was unbearably painful, yet so fast the victim never had time to express the full extent of their suffering.
A collective breath of cold air passed through the deck.
