Andrev couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Kir was standing over him, crowing, hoisting another horn high. Three gone. Two to go. Andrev wondered if he would die before Kir reached the last one.
Andrev was cold, but his body couldn’t shiver. Something inside him was splitting apart, fracturing, breaking, like the shaft of a spear dashed over a boulder again and again.
Kir leaned over him again, and he was hissing, snake-like. “This one is for me.” And he drove the golden blade down.
Andrev’s world vanished, and he saw light.
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