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... . "But with this, he has earned it on his own."

"How is the Youngest Master faring, Primarch?" Zarek inquired. Unlike Azeron, he couldn’t afford the luxury of spending his days observing Asher’s training.

His responsibilities were many, duties that rightfully belonged to the Primarch, but which Azeron routinely neglected out of sheer indifference. Unless it involved a blade or concerned his family, it rarely made its way onto Azeron’s to-do list.

"What can I say? He is a ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

……………………………………………………………

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