Bloom: Sea of the Blood Empress

Snow pressed into the wound on her side.

Not cold. Just… wet. Heavy.

Asmodea lay curled in a nest of shattered vines. Her lips were parted, drawing in air that didn't feel like air. Blood soaked the soil beneath her ribs—too much to shape, to control. It was just… spilling.

"I liked this dress…" she whispered, almost dreamily.

Her vision swam.

Frost clung to her lashes.

One of her wings twitched. The other was torn.

Kaaz's footsteps didn't echo. He didn't drag his sword-arm.

He came forward like a shadow cast by a dying flame—tall, straight, inevitable.

He said nothing.

He didn't mock her this time.

He didn't have to.

She tried to lift her arm.

Her fingers curled halfway toward the handle of her knife, then slumped.

Her magic didn't answer. Her vines lay dormant, drained. Torn apart by the enemy's attacks.