The crushing death of Jack sent a massive shockwave across the dead plains. The ten thousand Solaris soldiers cheered loudly, their voices carrying over the howling wind. They clashed their iron spears against their shields. A warlord had fallen. The ancient shadows were not immortal. They could bleed, and they could die, but high above the battlefield, the Queen of the Black Mist did not mourn her fallen comrade.
She hovered a dozen feet in the air, ignoring the deafening cheers of the mortal army. Her long dress, woven from thick, living black mist, swirled around her legs. She turned her faceless, porcelain white mask toward the broken granite wall.
"You killed the twitching dog," a voice echoed across the plains.
The Queen did not have a mouth, but her voice filled the air. It was a terrifying, hollow sound. It sounded like a woman weeping uncontrollably in an empty room. The sheer sadness in the voice was fake, masking a rotting malice.
