The silence that followed the Guardian's crash was heavier than the roar of the previous battle.
A ragged, wet breath escaped from his broken visor, laced with a dark trickle. The ground beneath him seemed to drink his vital essence. In front of him, the Lady of Midnight advanced. Every step was agony, a defiance of gravity and her own nightmare anatomy. Her body, now a forest writhing with supernumerary limbs, weeping eyes and mouths whispering curses, dragged itself forward with obscene slowness. The gnarled mass replacing her wounded flank throbbed like a sick heart.
