Only for the Necromancer to mock her, even as the Wanderer cut through her spells to open her belly with a blow.

“I won’t die,” the Damned laughed. “I am made of death, Wanderer.”

It was no idle boast. Though Laurence broke the army and fortress, the Necromancer was back half a moon later and slaughtering villages again. Laurence caught her on the move, ran her through, but it didn’t stick. She spoke to priests but they had no answers. A wizard she trusted, though, had a hint: she must have bound her soul to her works, he said. Instead passing on, the soul moved to inhabit another corpse. And it was true.

...

She would swing and sever.

It was a prayer under starlight, a wish whispered to night. Laurence de Montfort swung and Sublevacion sang, passing through flesh and… something more. The Necromancer screamed, screamed in fear, and there was a billowing of black smoke.

Oh, Laurence thought as she dropped to her knees. The dead dropped with her. It’d been only a single note, but she had heard it. Beautiful.

Her soul had whispered, and the word it had whispered was Sever.

- Extra Chapters: Beatification II