Naval braced himself against a fractured scale of his own body, grimacing as he forced himself upright. His laughter was ragged, torn through blood and bone, but fierce. "Heh… So that's it. The damned Upper Thrones—all crowns and decree—and a climber from Earth forced them back."
Roman spat blood, dragging himself closer to Leon with his good arm. "Not forced, brother. Rewritten. Those bastards were law. He made them echo." His grin was wolfish, even through broken teeth. "Which means they can bleed."
Milim was the only one still standing tall. Her violet fire writhed uncontrolled around her, tearing her skin and remaking it in cycles, yet her grin was manic, eyes bright with madness and joy. "HAHAHA! DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?! ALL THAT GEOMETRY—TWISTED LIKE WORMS! HA! I COULD DIE HAPPY NOW!"
