The God of Death's skull somehow managed to convey amusement despite being nothing but bone and shadow.
His eye sockets flickered with that familiar cold fire as he leaned against his counter, skeletal fingers drumming against the obsidian surface.
"Lie to you?" His voice carried the dry rasp of autumn leaves crumbling to dust.
"My dear Soul Warden, I told you exactly what you needed to hear. You couldn't properly channel my blessing because your mortal flesh would have torn itself apart trying to contain that much divine power."
Jack's jaw tightened, the memory of searing agony still fresh in his mind. The way his ribs had felt like they were being crushed from the inside, how his vision had gone white with pain.
"So Draven and you have been using me as a conduit," Jack said, his voice carrying an edge that could cut steel.
"Fed your power through me like I was some kind of... divine lightning rod."
