The world came back to Eric in pieces. The maddening rage that had fueled his final attack was gone, leaving behind a chilling, hollow emptiness. He was on his knees in the dirt, the unconscious form of his brother beneath him.
Pain, white-hot and absolute, radiated from his stomach and shoulder. He looked at his hands, bloody and trembling, and then at the scene of devastation around them.
Delia, in a state of shock, watched him. She looked from the monstrous, still form of Philip to the gray, stormy clouds above. As she watched, a miracle seemed to happen. The thick, oppressive clouds began to part, breaking apart and disappearing as if they were nothing more than smoke. The setting sun, low on the horizon, broke through, bathing the tragic scene in a final, brilliant, golden light.
