Ezra turned away from the bodies, the elder meeting room of the Vampire Society almost oppressively silent.
His footsteps echoed behind him as he strode across the broken hall, leaving the corpses behind him like pieces of a discarded history.
His coat rippled with darkness, fixing any tear or burn in it. His eyes, golden and burning with the certainty of destiny, stayed forward.
He was done looking back.
He passed through the doors, exiting the room.
And waiting for him beyond?
The Society's last line of defense.
A wave of Attendants, enforcers, and Warmongers surged toward him, shouts filling the air as they sought to defend the sovereignty of the Vampire Society.
Ezra didn't stop. Neither did he slow.
A flick of his wrist, and a wall of darkness tore through them like a scythe through grain.
