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But he had to. He couldn’t act emotionally now. If he made a move, did anything stupid, then everything would have been for naught. It was clear enough that the Salesman at least partly believed him--otherwise he would’ve attacked Hector already--but the man in yellow still had full control of the conversation.
“Tell everyone your name,” said Ivan.
The reaper in the cage groaned but didn’t answer. Hector felt the air grow heavier again, but still, the reaper remained silent.
“This one is resilient, too,” said Ivan. “Well, that’s fine. As it so happens, information is my great hobby. Everyone, this is Rholtam. He is the reaper for Ismael Blackburn. Rholtam is one of the oldest remaining Rainlords. One of the first generation. Not many of those left. Isn’t that right, Rholtam?”
The reaper gave a slow nod.
Hector had to try again. “Stop this. I won’t fight you unless--”
The cage converged. A blue flash annihilated Rholtam in an instant.
Hector’s breath caught, and his face grew hot with anger. This was worse than torture. Having to watch this motherfucker kill people? He couldn’t hide his scowl, and after a few moments, he stopped trying to.
Ivan just stood there, though. Observing him. Waiting with that look of expectation. Hoping for Hector to do something.
Hector resisted. He seized his mind back, his calm. And with it, he took the opportunity to talk to Garovel. ‘Stay away. I might be captured by the Salesman soon.’
‘Hector! What are you--?!’
He had to block the reaper out again. Even that stray thought in the back of his mind--the one asking how he was even capable of blocking Garovel out--that had to be ignored, too. He needed all of his concentration for whatever Ivan said next. He couldn’t miss anything. Not a word. Not a movement. Not anything.