Time is running out.
With each heave and grunt I make as we push the throne inch by inch across the dais, another second passes, and then another minute. How many lives have been extinguished by Azrael already? How many times has he got bored of waiting for us and decided to end the confused suffering of another victim he unjustly plucked from existence?
Yes, time is running out. And so are the lives of my friends.
Who knows how long Azrael will take to complete his ritual? Or how long Ithuriel will last, weak and shaking, barely nourished and scared out of his wits, unable to fight or even scream for help. Who knows how long Soren will last with silver coursing through his veins, burning through his body like a wildfire in the summer?
