"What's that shield?" Clint said, nudging his chin towards the energy construct strapped to Thanatos's forearm.
"A gift," said Thanatos, somber. "And a reminder of what I have to do."
Thanatos raised his arm into the air, the shield shining in its verdant splendor. He looked almost like Minuteman, standing stalwart with a symbol of protection high above to protect all life. But the way Thanatos was armored in bone parts and blackened metal and a cloak of wailing, stitched souls made it clear that he much more than a protector of life.
He was a dealer of death.
Both guardian and destroyer.
And this boundary, too, represented that dichotomy.
Thanatos crushed his hand into a fist. The shield separated from his arm and hovered high above his head. Its diadem structure, elongated on one side, looked almost like the hand of a clock. Here, the shield pointed upwards, towards where twelve would be if it was a timepiece.
From the shield, light exploded outwards in a blinding flash.
