Malika took the creature’s arms in two quick strokes, toying with the monster in an almost vindictive manner. Then she followed it up with a blindingly fast sweep, lopping the deathless’ head from its shoulders, banishing it back to Ashmar. She could afford a flourish here because she had been fortunate to catch this particular deathless alone, but she knew she could ill afford such recklessness once she began to wade into the mob of creatures trolling her now-empty village.
Besides, the holy man had looked as though he had been about to intervene, and she surely didn’t want that. She simply wanted to clear her village, reclaim it from the creatures swarming over it, and personally dispel as many as she could before the sun rose over the horizon.
She glanced at the holy man, this Orthael, and very nearly sneered at him before charging toward the center of town. Her dance of death was about to begin once more, and she was more than ready.
“Come, holy man,” she shouted over her shoulder, “if you dare.”
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