Raga stands from the floor then rubs her hands together so the blood from the puddle smothers away in a few claps.
"You see, Geirmundur, some mythical weapons are quite different from others. Unlike your hammer, hers is somehow connected to her, making it and her one. If you were to kill her we'd lose out on the opportunity to use it, extract it, or whatever is needed for our own purposes."
Geirmundur scratches his chin, smearing three lines of blood onto his face. "I… Get… Now…"
Raga stretches her arms out with a soft moan, allowing her silk dress to gleam in the moonlight as she takes a step forward. She snaps her fingers twice, looking into the sky with a smile.
