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Summary
Vox didn’t think about it. If he had, he’s not sure he would have done it, but his body didn’t let him think. One minute, he was watching Alastor showboat in front of the first man; the next, he was flickering in front of him while the angelic axe came down.
Hah, looked like Pentious wasn’t the only idiot who could be a self-sacrificing martyr. Vox’s eyes flicker to Alastor’s; it’s just for a second, but it’s enough. For once, his smile’s gone flat. Vox’s heart pounds, speeding up in the way it only does for Alastor, even decades later.
Pain, sharp and incompressible, burns over his chest. The air is stolen from his lungs. He always assumed angelic steel would hurt like a bitch, but the reality left him reeling. It was like his whole torso had been dipped in a vat of acid before promptly being rolled in salt and deep-fried.Or Vox is wounded in the battle with heaven. Alastor freaks out.
Series
- Part 7 of Bartender Vox Week