Damian felt the knife against his skin.
His hands started to move, but his reaction was too slow. The clumsy flesh of his human body was a limitation; his muscles were tired from fighting Maria Frost and recovering with only the Aspect of Vigor.
The Deep-made dagger was colder than ice.
The edge was razor-sharp, forged from the nothingness that comprised all the dark places in the world. A glass-like edge honed from the abyss, capable of slicing through metal and wood and bone alike. The soft flesh and wiry sinew of a human's throat were nothing to this reaper's scythe.
Hot blood bloomed from his throat, spraying into the air like water under pressure.
Time moved slower, as though the world had been immersed in molasses.
The scarlet stream of lifeblood held itself in mid-air, partway between entering his body and leaving it.
Time moved slower.
