Syriani stepped forward and placed its foot on Ajimma’s head. “I am not Dorayaica,” it said. “Dorayaica is dead. I am Shiomu. Prophet. And Elusha.” It lifted its clawed foot so that the pointed heel aimed down and stamped on Ajimma’s skull in the soft place behind the horned crest. Gore spattering its black-armored boot and the hem of its cloak, Dorayaica glowered at the others. “King.”
