s*x in death
I threw my hand out, my fingers splayed, and the black ink on my arm didn't just glow—it detached.
A wave of solid shadow erupted from my palm, forming a jagged, shimmering shield. The sonic rings hit the shadow and shattered like glass against stone. The impact sent a jolt of power up my arm, a rush of adrenaline so potent I felt a manic laugh bubbling in my throat.
"My turn," I whispered.
I didn't have Julian’s training, but the "Duke" inside me had a thousand years of practice. I pushed the shadow forward. It didn't just block; it lunged. The shield turned into a swarm of black needles, whistling through the sterile air.