“You see, I’d like to start my own collection. Maybe find your blood-bonded next—your twin, is it? Pestilence?” He sneers at his title. “Then I’ll have a pair I can string together to wear around my neck.”
With all heart, Pollock roars, “Stay the fuck away from him!”
“Well, now that you said so…” Lazreth gives a low, pleased chuckle. “I’ll be sure to track him down as soon as I’m done with you.”
Pollock lunges up, nearly dislodging him. The blade slips from Lazreth’s grip and hits the ground.
Lazreth answers with violence. Three punches slam into Pollock’s face, snapping his head side to side, nearly stealing his consciousness. An agonized groan spills from him as his head lolls.
Lazreth pats Pollock’s chest, then settles over him, straddling his stomach like he owns the space. A slow smirk pulls at his mouth as he takes in his work. Then his head rolls back on his shoulders, and he stares sightlessly at the stars for a long, indulgent beat.
“What do you think your God will do? Your oh-so-righteous redeemer? Will He come to your aid? Or just look down from His lofty paradise above and frown when He sees how pitiful His Chosen are?”
He lightly slaps Pollock’s face, then grabs his jaw. “Huh? You think He gives a fuck?”
With his free hand, he picks up my sword, resets it, and begins to dig the tip beneath Pollock’s eye.
Stop!
Lazreth, stop!
In return, he snarls, I warned you—you’d pay if you kept me locked up. This is me keeping that oath.
A twist—and Pollock gnashes his teeth as he fights. The scream he unleashes damn near tears my soul apart.
Lazreth makes crude cuts, grunting with the effort until most of the eye is free. Then, dropping the blade once more, he rips Pollock’s eye from its socket, tendons and all, and plops it into his hand.
You sick fuck!
His satisfaction and glee run rampant through me. It’s not my own, but it bloody feels like it, and I hate myself more at this moment than ever.
Grinning wickedly, he tosses it up and down. “Yes, in this case… a spade’s a damn spade. I don’t deny it.”
To Pollock, he says, “Consider yourself lucky I don’t take the other as well.”
He reaches forward and pets Pollock’s tresses. A faint, ugly smile. I do think he looks much prettier this way, if that’s any consolation.
Don’t you fucking touch him again?—
More patronizing petting. “There, there, now. It’s already growing back. So, no harm done.”
Pollock slaps Lazreth’s hand away while bucking ineffectually.
“Come now, it’s only an eye.”
Pollock growls and puts everything he can into a punch. It lands with enough force to momentarily dislocate Lazreth’s jaw.
“Oh, the fight in you! I love it. Turns me the fuck on.”
My gut twists in on itself, fighting the gratification that’s not mine with the nausea that is.
You’ve had your fun. Get off him.
“Not just yet.”
He pets the eyeball. “So damn pretty.” He turns it and holds it up to his eye. “What do you think? My color, or does it not go with the armor?”
Pollock jerks to the side, snatches up his blade, and drives it toward Lazreth’s neck in one fluid motion.
