as she flew through the first of many roiling banks of acrid black-and-white smoke , the riggings and sails of ships appearing out of their tops like trees wrapped in a volcanic fog , the battle below deafening and riveting , an image struck her , one so powerful it made her forget for a moment where she was and where she was going : long , green , black-veined fingers opened in her minds eye , fingers unclenching to reveal the gnarled palm of necrolius himself ... a palm that held something round and silver : an emasculatem .