The Last Dark: The climax of the entire Thomas Covenant Chronicles (Last Chronicles of Thomas Cove)

mess of blood and brains, sprawled lifeless as a doll.
    Canrik evaded a killing blow. He delivered a kick to the monster’s shin, a strike that nearly broke his leg. Then he was swatted away like a clod of dirt. Only a frantic twist in the air kept him alive when he collided with the wall.
    At the same time, the other stone-thing approached the Giants. Lifting one heavy foot, the creature stamped at Coldspray’s back, tried to crush her spine.
    She struggled to roll aside; failed. But her armor protected her. The stomp drove the air from her lungs. Her backplate cracked from neck to waist. Nevertheless she was not broken.
    Then Frostheart Grueburn heaved herself to her knees, swung her longsword in a wild cut at the monster. The iron bounced away, ringing like a shattered bell: it almost tore itself from her grasp. The stone-thing appeared unharmed. But her blow forced it to step back while it recovered its balance.
    Panting curses, the Ironhand wrenched herself upright, gripping her lore-hardened glaive in both fists.
    Canrik came to attack again. He moved as quickly as he could; but even his great strength could not mask his limping, or his unsteadiness.
    “No!” Coldspray gasped. “Await an opening! We must combine our efforts!”
    He staggered to a halt.
    At once, she raised her blade as if she meant to chop at the monster’s head. Then she surged forward, committed all of her bulk to a straight kick at the creature’s chest.
    Jeremiah thought that he heard the thews of her knee tear, but she did not cry out. The stone-thing was driven two steps backward, three—
    —and Canrik leapt onto the creature’s back, clamped his hands over its eyes—
    —and Grueburn rushed the other monster. Discarding her longsword, she tackled the creature, wrapped her arms around it, forced it away from Jeremiah. By plain force and desperation, she strove to pitch it into a fall—
    —and
moksha
Jehannum slipped into Jeremiah as easily as an indrawn breath.
    After that, Jeremiah only knew what was happening to his companions because the Raver cast glances outward. Everything that he might have chosen for himself was taken away.

    he first jolt of possession was cruel as the heat of a wildfire. It burned through Jeremiah leaving nothing but ash. Yet the scalding emotional violation passed in an instant. It was gone before he could even try to scream.
    In its wake, it left an utter and unutterable peace.
    The tranquility of complete helplessness dismissed his fears, his bitterness, his frantic floundering. Sudden as a crisis of the heart, every responsibility and desire and need was lifted from him. Nothing more could be asked of him—he could ask nothing more of himself—because there were no choices left. He was free at last of anything that resembled humanity.
    Oh, he was conscious of
moksha
Jehannum’s presence and power, aware in every nerve and fiber. He knew that he had been claimed. He felt the Raver’s vast glee, a sensation of triumph like ecstasy or delirium. He recognized the Raver’s insatiable hunger for havoc. He knew that he had finally become
moksha
’s tool, and Lord Foul’s: a thing that only lived to serve the Despiser.
    Yet the effect was not hurtful. It was pure relief, a soothing that mimicked bliss. This act of possession was a gift, a benison, a benediction. It eased him like an act of grace. He had finally become the boy he was meant to be; the boy he should have been ever since he had thrust his hand into Lord Foul’s bonfire ten years ago. He had come home to himself.
    Do you now discern truth? asked the Raver kindly, eagerly. Long have you striven to evade our intent, long and at great cost. Long have you concealed yourself from suffering, though your wounds festered with every avoided day. Do you now grasp that there can be no surcease or anodyne for an implement, except in its condign use? Do you comprehend that there is both freedom and exaltation in the acceptance of service?
    This all true believers know. They submit every desire and gift to the will of beings greater than themselves, and by their surrender they gain redemption. Self-will accrues only fear. It achieves only pain. The highest glory is reached solely by the abdication of self.
    Do you understand? Do you acknowledge at last that you are the Despiser’s beloved son, in whom he is well pleased?
    There the Raver paused. He appeared to be waiting for a response from Jeremiah; a sign of acquiescence. But Jeremiah did not