Merikh’s shamshir cut across the Emani’s chest, barely grazing the man. Loralee could see only a thin cut from his torn kameez. The Emani stumbled back, his eyes wide in abject horror. The glyphs on Merikh’s shamshir glowed green. The blade turned black, as if made of shadow. From the Emani’s wound, necrotic fog began to pour. A moment later, it took the form of a man. Loralee’s breath caught in her throat.
-L.J. Stanton
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