Sunny drove the sharp blade of his slaying Will through the Vile Thieving Bird's eye, piercing its brain.
If Weaver could see it... they'd probably feel darkly amused by the morbid justice of that lethal blow. Sunny did not care about justice, though — and neither did he care about Weaver. All he cared about was making sure that the loathsome Terror died and regaining his fate.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, the Thieving Bird's towering body shuddered, and its frenzied, demented gaze slowly grew cold. The burning madness was finally gone from its eyes, replaced by glassy emptiness.
It was dead.
Sunny swayed heavily, the last of his essence being consumed by the burden of sustaining the powerful enchantment of Weaver's Mask. The boundless tapestry of broken fate disappeared, and the crushing pressure that had been tormenting his tired mind lifted.
But he was still holding it in his grasp...
His fate.
