John looked at the shimmering ghost core that the snake-like woman had dropped. Its surface pulsed faintly with cold, spectral energy, as though a piece of her soul still lingered within.
Shadows danced in the reflection of its curved surface.
He stepped forward slowly, the echo of his bloodied boots soft against the cold stone floor.
Kneeling down, he picked up the core.
The chill bit instantly into his fingers. It was a bone-deep cold, more spiritual than physical.
A sharp breath escaped his lips, but he held the core steady, letting its eerie glow illuminate his bruised and dirt-streaked face.
Behind him, Caros remained silent, watching carefully.
The fire that once burned in his eyes had dimmed after the brutal two-hour battle.
His body was still trembling from exhaustion, blood crusting on his sleeve and jawline.
But then he blinked in surprise.
John had turned and was holding the core out toward him.
A brief silence passed between them.
