Dry Mouth choked on his own saliva.
Consume it? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
The golden line stretched through the void with a presence far beyond anything Dry Mouth could casually interfere with. It wasn't just some random bit of energy stretched out into a line. It was carving out space in the void for itself, filling nothingness with enough substance that the void had no choice but to acknowledge its existence.
Even Dry Mouth couldn't do that. He could borrow from the void, twist it around himself, sever things from the structures that supported them, and with enough preparation he could even manipulate a World Spirit into serving his purposes like he had done before his battle with Sylas, but that was preparation, time, layers of effort and work.
He didn't even know how to start "working" on this. And Sylas somehow wanted him to swallow it.
Dry Mouth's thoughts immediately spiraled toward something worse.
Iskaleth and Sarethvane.
