The beast's head hit the ground. The green glow died from its eyes.
I stood there, fist still buried in scorched hide, breathing so hard it hurt. Blood dripped from my knuckles, my nose, the corner of my mouth. The forest was burning in patches around us, white flames eating lazily through undergrowth and climbing tree trunks. Everything smelled like ash and cooked meat.
It was done.
I pulled my fist free and staggered back, and the moment I did, the fire coating my hands guttered and died. My spirit essence was running on fumes. My left arm was useless. My ribs were a constellation of fractures held together by stubbornness. I took one step back, then another, and my legs almost gave out.
I turned toward where I'd dropped the Frostfang sword.
The ground behind me cracked.
