Marak's body lay half-submerged in the mud.
Mist drifted through the ruined shrine, thin enough for the dead bandits scattered beyond the broken walls to appear and disappear whenever the wind shifted. Teclos stood over the corpse until the last thread of stolen mana entered his hand.
It was not much.
None of them had been.
He turned.
Axel waited at the edge of the ruins with the dark chain hanging from his neck. Mud covered his boots and the hem of his torn clothes. Weeks had passed since Teclos last punished him properly. There had always been another camp to clear, another road to open, another payment waiting at Veyron's fortress.
Axel had mistaken distraction for mercy.
"Now it's your turn, old man," Teclos said. "I've had enough fun torturing you."
Axel's shoulders sagged.
"So it's time."
Teclos wound the chain around his fist and pulled.
