The dead—all the dead that Luna and Garduck had created in their assault—began to stir. Not as mindless zombies, but as loyal soldiers of the god of the underworld. Their eyes blazed with green fire as they turned on their killers, their broken bodies moving with supernatural grace.
"You think death ends service to the gods?" Osiris's voice carried the finality of the grave. "Death is where service truly begins."
Luna found herself surrounded by the very war-sphinxes she had destroyed, their stone flesh reformed and their riddles now whispered with the voices of the dead. "What burns hotter than the sun?" one asked, its voice a hollow echo of her own words. "The flames of regret, child. The fire that burns when you realise your defeat."
