'Hey, bastard,' Adam called out in his mind, the words echoing inside his soul sea. 'Time to pay rent. And don't even try to extort me. You're in more danger than I am.'
'I...' A deep whisper began, then choked into silence.
Buried in the scorched earth of an island girded by rivers of fire, Aamon's cleaver shuddered. Sulfur thickened the air, and the crimson gem embedded above its skull-hilt pulsed, alive with malice.
'I wish I could watch that celestial whore torture you, accursed liar, defiler of eternal relics. But...' The cleaver's tremors deepened, then stilled—as if steeling itself. 'Fifty millennia sealed in a coffin like Andras's puppet isn't part of my plans. You can use me—only this one time.'
With that, it vanished in an ocean of green flames.
