"I'm looking forward to destroying it," I said quietly, my boot still pressing against Ezekiel's throat as I savored the flicker of terror in his eyes.
I hadn't expected to end up here, of all places—this supposed graveyard of the enemy. In my mind, I had pictured something far less convenient: appearing in the middle of a crowd of their warriors, claws and blades raised, a fight waiting to explode the moment I showed myself. But that wasn't the case.
Instead, I'd landed here, in this chamber steeped in oil-lamp shadows and stale earth, surrounded not by living foes but by their unholy anchor.
The realization hit me like a slow-burning fuse.
This wasn't just luck; it was an opportunity.
And what an opportunity it was.
The graveyard was the heart of their strength.
Every rune, every staff crowned with a skull, every mound of disturbed soil existed to cheat death—to pull their warriors back from the void, piece by piece, no matter how brutal the end I gave them.
