'Don't tell me—'
His hair. His flesh. His blood. Dasha failed to notice it but the jackal teleported and attacked him the way it did not to inflict pain but to retrieve those little pieces of him. They were collected within the jackal's fist which he revealed by opening his palm.
Ka's Judgement.
The moment Khamose uttered the words, the small amounts of Dasha's blood, hair, and flesh evaporated in his hand.
The ballroom darkened, its golden chandeliers snuffed out. The marble floor beneath Dasha's feet rippled like water, distorting his reflection into something alien. Towering jackal statues lined up the ballroom and groaned to life, their hollow eyes flickering with blue flame.
Dasha felt pressure.
A crushing, divine force settled upon his shoulders, not just physical—but spiritual. Something was reaching inside him, gripping at his very being. It went from his shoulders down to his chest and lingered in his ribcage. His heart.
Then he saw it.
