There were too many bodies. Collapsed buildings stood everywhere within the walls, and every few yards another corpse lay sprawled on the ground. A brutal battle might have raged through these streets.
There were more Lightsabers than Aphra could possibly collect. To keep from slowing the group down, she picked up a few and left the rest.
That was the thing about antiques: unique or rare pieces fetched better prices. Judging by the number of bodies, there might be hundreds of thousands of Lightsabers in the city. If she hauled them all out, they would sell for next to nothing.
Still, she examined each corpse carefully, turning it over and pinching its skin before testing one Lightsaber after another.
Apart from a few damaged Lightsabers that would no longer ignite, every one they had found along the way had a golden blade.
And while a few corpses bore obvious wounds, most had died the same way: from a burn that had drained the moisture from their bodies, almost as if—
"As if their life had been drained away, right?"
Deathstroke toyed with his new Lightsaber, making its blade flicker in and out like a toy.
"Yes. Looks like we had the same thought. At first, I figured it was some kind of burn, but the temperature around here is unnaturally low." Aphra straightened up, took a pair of fluffy earmuffs from the Killa Kan, and put them on. She breathed into her cupped hands. "And these bodies have become unusually... springy and tough. Burning wouldn't do that."
"Did you touch Corpse Master?" Deathstroke asked with a faint smile.
"Did you?" Aphra returned his crooked smile.
They understood each other perfectly. Both had secretly touched Corpse Master's remains earlier—Aphra to search them for valuables, Deathstroke to read his mind.
They had