A smirk crawls over Abia’s face. “You can’t have,” she says, with firm finality.
“Though, really, you shouldn’t take the witch’s, either,” Fassn adds.
Ulxurix smiles, her purple teeth glowing. “And why not?”
Fassn blinks. “It’s impolite?”
“Listen, lich,” Shyan says, her blade aloft. “Why not keep your slender form? Can’t imagine why you’d want Cang, or even Abia. Ulxurix, sure, she’s a weirdo like you. Why not leave us alone? Take Horton’s body, instead.”
Horton’s hand flies to his chest, his face a portrait of alarm.
“No potency in Horton,” says Ulxurix. Her tattoos flare and glow purple, matching the fangs lining her mouth. “Too little potency in this old witch, too.” The tattoos begin peeling away from her skin, lifting off like oily trails that leave her flesh, reaching like antennae. “Abia, yes?” she says. “I think I’ll have yours.”
The tattoo antennae shoot towards her.
