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She knew the place. The funeral home had taken a hit from the explosion of the hospital's top floor: the debris smashed into the casket to splinters. This was the casket she had slept in once when she was exhausted.
She looked at her left hand: it was still severely wounded. The hole through it prevented some of her finger movement. The cankered lights of oblivion circled around the wound. Though, she could see the flesh heal slowly, strands of ethereal flesh and bone budding like lizard tails.
Most shocking to her was that she was in control. She didn't know how long her consciousness would last before the spirits seized her body. On her chest, she inspected the damage she was able to do to the Eye. The lens was cracked, and it was hard to see the three-pupil eye within. Four wings she had left as well. Could this be due to the weakening of the Eye? The broken pair was behind her, nothing but a pile of bone and feathers.
There was no time to contemplate her changes, she realized. She had to act now. With her right hand, she summoned oblivion into a ball of corrosive energy. Now she felt the spirits stir. Come on, Nu thought, I can end this. It was a shame she couldn't say goodbye to her friends, but better for them to be away and safe. She could imagine Van trying to stop her, crying out for a more sure way of handling her invaders. A delay would be deadly, however. Here, alone and in silence, she could be quick and uninterrupted.
NO! screamed the spirits in unison. Her left hand gripped the right, blood spilling out of the wound. We … we'll not allow such foolishness. She felt her galaxial body grow numb, slowly yielding to the spirits' influence. She felt the room spin, and light from within blinded her for a second. No, Nu thought, you will not make me hurt them! The last thing she remembered was that she flailed her arm, an attempt to strike the trinket on her chest. A burning pain seared her back.
They regained control. Behind them, one of their wings was clipped: their top left wing had been burned off. Flightless, Dark Weaver thought bitterly, for now. There was no doubt that Nu's friends would have to die before they can have total control. Perhaps the gunner's death would be enough. Yes, the slower and more excruciating his end … that is how they would tame the girl within. This is how we will purge the final impurity. The damage to the Eye, Dark Weaver knew, would be difficult to heal. They tried summoning flame and ice from the left hand, but only vestiges of energy appeared along with an irritating pain.
Through a hole in the ceiling, Dark Weaver could see the sky redden. Time is short, and this realm is passing away, they hypothesized. Their eyes scanned the interior.
"A place of goodbyes," Dark Weaver mused out loud, "an isle of mourning and weeping in a sea of sorrow." They let the fire grow and writhe in their right hand. "Allow me to dry your tears." Walking down the aisle, they let their burning fingers caress the wooden pews. The flames chewed at the carpet as well. By the time they got outside, the whole building was ablaze. An explosion happened near the rear of the home; if Nu's memory served them well, there was a wrecked ambulance back there.
That gunner, mused Dark Weaver, this Vandal of House Blackwood … with all that powder charge on him, will he do the same?
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