Eris stood in the wreckage of her own destruction, her lungs burning with the sharp, metallic scent of ozone and cooling blood.
She held herself with a rigid, artificial precision, every muscle locked into a performance of stability.
The reality was far messier. Three of her ribs were definitely cracked, grinding against one another with every shallow breath.
The shoulder wound from the ice-spear hadn't closed; it wept a slow, hot trail of crimson down her arm, staining the white-gold light she radiated. But the most terrifying thing was the seal.
Across her collarbone and down her sternum, the fracture lines had begun to spread. They weren't just internal anymore.
They were visible on her skin, glowing with a faint, sickly orange light, hairline cracks in a porcelain doll that had been dropped one too many times.
