I closed my eyes against the blinding destruction of the last sun. My soul still quivered from whatever strange backlash I was suffering, filled with a foreign power I couldn't access. Fable was hurt, and though he'd regenerated enough to shelter me against the sun's heat, it wasn't going to make a difference.
We were alone. No matter how badly I wanted him to, Luke wasn't going to–
The light dimmed, allowing my eyes to crack open. A shadowy silhouette stood above us, soul gleaming as brightly as the descending sea of light. Dark wisps of curse mana, smelling faintly of decay and whispering with unseen voices, rose from the ground and curled around him. A tattered black cloak billowed around the figure, shielding me from the light's intensity. The air crackled, and a primal fear, cold and sharp, pierced me.
Could it be one of Fyren's curse demons? Had it actually managed to catch up?
