((Q has been writing lots at TNG recently, but most of it involving non-Grimmish, so I didn't crosspost here. If you click my signature image there, his profile has the complete list of threads where I put up more than just a few lines.
But! This one involves Grim as well, so here's the first post of it. It's a continuation from this Grim thread here.))
Qabian dropped the faded half-lit shard into the warlock's skeletalfingers. He had lost it once. He was still uncertain he was willing tolose it again. But no. It had to be done. He would be whole once more.
"Do not fight back," she said.
Qabian nodded, but mage armor flickered around him nevertheless. If he could reduce what was coming to him in the slightest --
"Are you ready?"
No! Gods, no! What if it goes wrong? What if instead of a gapingwound, you're left with nothing at all? Run! Run while you can! Lockher magic, break her fingers, take back the piece, and get the hell out.
"I am."
Her spells tore at him. Curses and corruptions, fire and shadow. Hestumbled backwards. It would be so easy just to -- just to -- He staredback at her. Her expression was set with determination. Pain rippedthrough every fiber of him, and then its caustic, scorching touch tooka hold of what had been broken so long, and pulled it from him,shredded it to nothingness.
The mage glanced over at the priest, just standing there, obediently waiting Acherontia's next command.
"I can't..." Qabian snarled through gritted teeth. Then, "No!" Hisshout echoed through a sudden vast silence. He was standing alone in afield of ashes under a black sky, a distinctly palpable nothingness.