[The Ruined Hall — Ghost Headquarters]
"You will never have the cup!!" Patricia said with agonizing difficulty. Her face was turning a deep, bruised purple, but her hands still clawed uselessly at Casey's iron grip. There was no fear in her eyes—only a twisted, triumphant zeal.
"Oh, you are stubborn." Casey looked over her shoulder at Precious, her expression one of mild annoyance, as if she were dealing with a persistent insect rather than a dying woman.
"Yeah, the Cup is right there... I can feel the putrid, evil energy emanating from it," Precious said. She stepped over the rubble, her eyes locked onto the monolithic pillar standing atop the altar. The air around it seemed to warp and ripple with a dark, hungry gravity.
"Ok then, leave it to me." Regina stepped forward, her hand a blur as she drew her sword. She didn't just swing; she unleashed a concentrated, razor-thin slash of energy that could have bisected a mountain.
BAM!!!
