A focused thought and a glance heralds invisible blades of force that cut through flesh and bone, and the body falls to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. Yvela approaches the body, allowing the corruption hiding her presence to dissipate, and just like the thousands of times before she kneels down and prepares to perform a ritual, only to notice that the body is still stirring weakly.

A twinge of annoyance is what strikes her first. Three casts was always enough before, she thinks to herself. As she begins to prepare the fourth spell, a noise that she instantly recognizes draws her attention; the sound of blood and air being desperately drawn into the lungs of the body before her.

She stares, transfixed, and horror blossoms in her chest and spreads into her limbs, feeling simultaneously like a crushing weight and piercing needles. The body shakes and writhes, no longer aware of its surroundings, as the damage caused by her spells has begun a cascade of catastrophic organ failures.

This is a familiar sight to her. She has witnessed death countless times and caused it nearly as many, all for the sake of studying and understanding it. All for the sake of one day overcoming it. Yet as she watches life rapidly bleed out of the body in front of her, all thoughts of the greater good momentarily vanish from her mind.

Right now she wishes with all her being that she could stop this one death. She wishes she could undo the damage she's done. Pressure builds in her head and her vision wavers, and for a moment she thinks she can feel the cracks widening in that intangible organ all life possesses; the soul.

An indiscernible amount of time passes. Yvela walks away, followed closely by a shambling body.