At that moment a figure shot out of the shadows of the tunnel, a figure that approached at express-train speed and quickly loomed larger and larger. Its blood-colored halo, the mask with the snarl of tenderness, the furnace-door eyes, and the dripping sword—all could be made out in frightening detail.
Like the lost soul he believed he was, Revanche screamed and dropped flat to the ledge, crushing his snipped nose into the granite. He moaned, and waited for the clang of armor and the final whistle of the blade through the air before it thudded into his neck.
Above him something dark and monstrous shot out of the O and roared by.
Whoosh!
It missed the ledge by many feet, and fell into the lava ocean.
A train of shadows flickered over Revanche. The air was disturbed by the constant passage of flying elephantine bodies.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
One by one, like living shells exploded out of a circus cannon, they projectiled over their intended prey. By the thousands they meteored over him, eyeballs matching the glare of the lava below, swords automatically slashing out even as they spun and turned over and over, and splashed into the liquid rock.