"We actually did it!"
Jasmine and Baraka stood over the empty space where the Emperor had dissolved, their chests heaving from exertion. Victory should have felt sweet. Instead, the silence that followed felt… quite sober.
"We actually did," Barake panted, repeating his words as he wiped the Emperor's dark blood from his knuckles.
"W-we did. You were right, we did—"
Her words died, however, when she turned to look at Adam.
The creep hung motionless in the air from her spear, the sharpened wood punched clean through his gut. Blood dripped steadily from the wound, pooling in the sand below. His head lolled forward, eyes closed, arms hanging limp at his sides.
"Is he dead?" Jasmine asked, her remaining hand pressed against her severed wrist.
Baraka approached the suspended figure, studying Adam's face for signs of life. No breath. No movement. Just the steady drip of blood.
