Darquesse lay there in the broken road, looking up at the suddenly starless sky in the last few moments of life, and she managed a shaky laugh. Her body was smashed. Her lungs were burst and her heart wasn’t beating. Her limbs were twisted, her spine was pulverised, her head was cracked open. She could feel her brain starting to swell, so that was the first thing she healed. She wouldn’t be able to do much thinking without her brain.
It was somewhere between four and five on a Monday morning. She healed her spine and raised her head, looked around. No civilians were standing there, staring with open mouths. Pity. She’d have liked to have seen their faces when she stood up after a fall like that.
Lord Vile lay a few feet away. He wasn’t moving.
Darquesse repaired her internal organs, restarted her heart and drew air into her newly re-formed lungs. Next came her limbs. Her bones made cracking sounds as they realigned and knitted back together. She reached behind her head, made sure her hair didn’t get trapped in the fissure that healed in her skull. Her ruptured skin closed over. A lot of her blood covered the ground, so she made more, and stood up.