Skorrish's grip on his spear tightened. He struck a fighting stance.
"You can threaten me, but your power is futile against me. The worst that happens is I end up Rash'alon, a fragment of my soul destroyed," it snarled.
Arantius shrugged. "Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not. The Oracle's power was raw and unrefined. She was but a child picking at a few stray threads in the tapestry of fate. An act of desperation, more than anything."
"You're bluffing," Skorrish said.
He lunged forward, spear tip exuding a malefic darkness. Arantius parried the attack, knocking the spear to the side. Skorrish's force carried him off balance, but the remnant let him regain his feet, frowning at him.
"Your avatar is weak. You descended too early, didn't you?" Arantius's tone was filled with disapproval. "What could have been so important that you would have…Ah, I see." His eyes narrowed. "You wanted her that badly? Would it have killed you to give her a few more months of peace?"
