And underneath all of that, burning hot and pure: rage at being used, hunted, treated like a resource instead of a person.
I channel it all into the blade.
The next strike catches Morganna across the ribs. Not deep, but enough. Divine energy pours into the wound, and she screams—actual pain breaking through her composure.
"You little b***h—" She staggers back, one hand pressed to the bleeding cut.
"I'm done being your prey." I advance, blade ready. "You want my blood? You want my power? Come take it."
She throws everything she has at me. Purple lightning, shadow tendrils that try to bind me, corrupted earth that rises to trap my feet. The hall becomes a maelstrom of clashing magics.
And I meet it all with silver light that burns away darkness, that purifies corruption, that holds fas
