Luke's anger was dark and heavy, a miasma as thick as any curse. It smothered my soul until the only thing I could feel was his hand in mine, though whether it was the touch of his physical body outside the soulspace or the manifestation of his soul, I didn't know. It didn't really matter, either; it was the only thing I could cling to as our souls and memories entertained.
Glimpses of battles, faces, and conversations flashed through the darkness, seen through the eyes of the Apostle of Curses. It was one dark, horrible scene after another. Blood-soaked streets, demons slaughtering each other over the smallest child's soul, and lots of fire and death.
