From behind the great doors at the far end came the muffled fury of the council's last lords.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" That was Mogrun, pitched high with terror. "THAT THING IS ALREADY DEAD! THE COUNCIL COMMANDS YOU! LOOSE! LOOSE!"
And then their king used what the ritual had left of his lungs.
"SHOOT!" The roar came out ruined and enormous, dead air forced through a broken instrument, and every soldier in the corridor flinched as it hit them. "FORGET WHAT I AM NOW! SHOOT HIM THROUGH ME! THAT IS YOUR KING'S LAST COMMAND!"
Something tore in what remained of his chest. His last word frayed at its edges, and black ran freely from the corner of the royal mouth.
On the right, the ballista crew obeyed their king.
The great bolt crossed the corridor, and the Villain met it with their king.
Ragnar took it a hand's width from the first shaft, burying to half its length. The black threads came for the wound slower this time, slow enough that the whole corridor watched them labor.
