With A Word
When the last of their army dies, she is there to taste its blood. Their pain is the best kind of magic, and she it gathers into her palm with glee. Her claim to power is complete, save for her sister's life.
Jadis.
She would hesitate, but she has the roar of her own army as impetus, and her stained sword as courage. This is her world now, and Charn her city, and her family has died in proof.
She, herself, is ensorcelled to resist her sister's more insidious spells. She has seen Jadis wile disciplined soldiers into strife, and she shivers to think of those slow, awful crumblings of dust where once live flesh had been. She would be no coward to quail before her sister, but the time for fear is over.
It is time, finally, to secure her throne.
When they rush the final tower, she is the one to strike down its sentinels, the last vestiges of her sister's power. The weak, defensive magic fells a few of her own men, but not enough to give her pause.
Their footsteps fall like thunder as they ascend the spiral stairway, and the cool light of the sun tints the stones crimson.
When they finally reach the apex, Jadis stands there, waiting, weaponless.
She feels a quiver of triumph as she raises her blade, anticipates the buttersoft thrust of metal through flesh. "Victory," she exults.
"Yes," Jadis replies with a haunting laugh. "Victory, but not yours."
She speaks The Word, and the world dies screaming.