Page 4036

Perhaps it was time for more dramatic action. If the world refused to understand, then perhaps he should do more to teach it. This could be the start. The first real lesson.

And Damian, the first student.

In the end, they all wanted him to act like an evil son of a bitch, didn't they? Everyone. Always. That was why they all treated him the way that they did. Even his own kin. They simply couldn't get it out of their minds that he was manipulating them in some way. Or that he was planning to. Anyone who grew to know him also grew to fear him.

It was inevitable.

And if they were so dead set on hating him, then he might as well give them something to hate. Payback from all his incarnations.

And from before, too.

Were you watching, Jonah? This was your fault, you know. If you just stopped pushing, this wouldn't have happened.

Yes, that's right. Ettol could feel him stirring now. Realizing. But he was well in control, this time. Flush with power. The Windlight already flowing through him, almost without effort.

He'd grown again. It wasn't usually so obvious. Almost like those emergences that servants and reapers loved to talk about.

But this was different. This was a return. A remembering.

Damian's temples were between his hands. Damian was struggling. Yelling. As he often did. But it was too late, of course. Ettol had control of the body. Of everything, really.

Feromas was there, too. Frozen. But still conscious. Ettol made sure of that. He wanted the reaper to see. The way Jonah saw.

But what to do with this vulnerable little mind? Snap it in two? There was certainly something satisfying in that option. A beautiful simplicity in it. But no. This needed to be more of a show.

And an experiment. Yes. A new test for this renewed strength.

Damian. Your mind wasn't going to snap. Not yet, anyway.

You were going to attack Parson and Overra when they arrived. You were going to destroy this little trio at its root.

And tell them all sorts of things. Confound them. Make them hate you. Make them hate themselves, if you can. But that might be too much to ask of you, of course.

Ettol felt the twisting soul in his grasp. The writhing thoughts. The rising willpower. The stubborn resistance.

But they were glass. And he shattered them.