“It was three thousand years ago. I was naked, Dad pissed me off, so I sprinted across the sea to a place named Carthage. Ended up over tilting the scales of some guy named Hannibal, who went on to make something of a name for himself. After that, it’s been a blur of booze and booty.”
Sighing heavily, I tighten my grip on the staff and lift the prongs into the air. Spinning the Trident, I slam the points into the ground of my bedroom. In the same motion, I drop to one knee and press my forehead to the side of the golden artifact. I reach out to the sea monster’s soul, and the glow descends into the earth, slipping through the prongs and sending the creature to its next destination.
I curse Morrigan for forcing my hand and slowly start pulling. The tube makes a squishing sound as I pull it out of her. Ichor splashes me and falls down my face as I repeat the process over and over again. By the tenth cable, I realize the ichor is dripping from my chin, and is mixed with a stream of liquid that appears to be coming from my eyes.
