The powdered diamond of the crushed recording crystal slipped through Raiden's bloody fingers, scattering into the cold night wind like fine silver ash.
He didn't look down at Marcus's headless corpse lying at his boots, nor did he look at the six shrivelled husks of the Vane Clan guards littering the ruined courtyard. He simply stood on the scorched flagstones, staring blankly up at the dark clouds where the teleportation pillar had pierced the sky minutes ago.
Slowly, a dull red glow ignited inside his torn chest.
His Prince of the Blood bloodline activated on instinct, circulating warm crimson energy through his shattered ribs, his dislocated right shoulder, and the dozens of bleeding spatial cuts carving across his skin. With a series of wet, sickening pops, his shoulder bone slid back into its socket and his fractured ribs began knitting themselves back together.
"Hiss..."
