A myriad of lifeless eyes peered back up at me as I stood panting over the corpse of this corrupted, beheaded, once angelic... Thing... I had expected to feel something... Anything. Perhaps it was the divinity suppressing my emotions but where there was once my heart, was nothing but emptiness.
I stood there, still as a statue as I looked down at Yarhibol, searching for something within myself, a sense of victory, justice or perhaps realized revenge... Nothing. If anything, all I felt was surprise at just how meaningless this all was. Yarhibol had hunted me down, and for what? To kill an enemy who was incapable of harming him at the time? All at the behest of a god whom he had never seen nor heard or touched.
No.
Yarhibol created his own demise. He forged me -us- into a weapon through his fear and intimidation, pushed us beyond our breaking point and hammered us into a weapon that had become strong enough to slay him...
