The iron fingers crushing Vane's throat were cold and devoid of pulse. The Grave Warden lifted him higher into the stagnant air. Vane's boots kicked uselessly over the flooded flagstones. The blue vertical slit of Kavor's mask stared directly into his eyes. The construct did not feel anger or pain. It only recognized an error in its crypt that needed to be erased.
Kavor drew its massive right fist back. The rusted iron knuckles were the size of boulders. The strike was aimed directly at Vane's skull.
Vane could not breathe. His vision tunneled into a tight circle of grey static. His left arm hung useless and fractured at his side. He still gripped the shaft of the Silver Fang with his right hand, but the blade was lodged deep inside Kavor's chest plate. He had no leverage to pull it free.
The iron fist descended.
