"He tore them off."
"But how? He didn't even touch him."
The two Daemons who spoke in the audience stared at the arms lying on the stone. Beyond them, the Heart Reaper knelt in his own blood, screaming.
A spectator farther up the terrace leaned forward.
"Is he really a Prime Greater Demon?"
"That's what they announced."
"Then what the fuck is the Heart Reaper doing?"
Nobody had an answer.
The violence itself was nothing unusual. Most of the spectators had seen worse, and some had done worse. They hadn't expected the newcomer to be quite so ruthless, but that wasn't what left them staring.
They had come to watch a Blessed of the Abyss deal with an unknown challenger.
Now the Blessed was the one without arms.
Joren's cursed spirits were gone. His artifacts had failed him. Whatever he had attempted afterward had ended with him coughing blood and being forced onto his knees.
