Victoria's severed arm did not bleed.
For a single suspended second, the cut edge of her shoulder shimmered like fractured glass. Then the flesh unraveled into strands of molten gold. The dismembered arm lying across the decayed, ash-colored ground dissolved into particles of radiant light, scattering like embers caught in a silent storm.
The dead world around them groaned.
The sky was a rotting shade of violet. Cracked earth stretched endlessly, its surface brittle and flaking as if existence itself was decomposing. Black trees stood frozen mid-decay, their trunks half-crumbled into dust.
The golden fragments rose from the ground, spiraling upward. They gathered at her shoulder, compressing into a blinding sphere of energy before sinking into her flesh.
Her new arm grew out of that light.
Bone threaded itself first, white and sharp. Muscles wrapped around it in twisting strands. Skin sealed over it smoothly, flawless, untouched.
Her fingers flexed once.
The air trembled.
