The slaughter on the tilted black beach looked less like a battle than an industrial meat grinder running on a fifty-degree incline.
Kassie came down the slope with the crimson-and-black greatsword already moving:
"Die on the steel."
She never bothered bracing her boots against the warm stone of the living island. The Tyrant Empress let gravity and momentum do the work, stepping down the incline and swinging the greatsword in brutal, geometric arcs. Every sweep of the heavy iron blade carved through the front of the swarm and shattered the glossy black water-flesh of the parasitic sea-dragons into a rain of freezing brine.
Meanwhile, her Throne of Corpses had turned the shoreline into a nightmare of its own.
