Noctisardor Bypass [m] luke 10:19

Anselm may have signed his death warrant with those words. If he was cut down in that moment, his last thought would be how smugly satisfying it was reading Amadeo's face transform from shock to pure fury.

#worth it

The great brute of a man took one step forward, then another. If Anselm had ever seen lions on the great savannah, he'd know the word for it: leonine. As it was, he saw only his gradual death writ before him -- a black waterfall so great that even a stone would not withstand its beating.

Go on, then, he thought -- waiting for the confrontation to come to blows. Instead, the man employed verbal assault. Only, did he know Anselm was so bitter that words hardly hurt him anymore? His heart and his head were boxes of nothing -- all the contents unpacked long ago by every heartbreak and failure.

Faggot? Oh, that's nice. Anselm laughed in the way a man struck in the jaw by a punch would laugh, feeling the sharp slap of adrenaline pound against his skull. Imagine that - I'm a faggot, and I still pull more vomen than you. Anselm sneered, unaware that Gideon was in the periphery. Unaware that the boy felt the thunderous tension between them, and now ran for safety. It would kill him to learn he'd inspired such fear in his son -- but for now his focus was on the leering face of his only competitor, who jeered and jabbed with a boxer's expert throw.

Harder? Like how hard I vas, each time I fucked Heda? Anselm felt his fur ripple with the electric exchange of pressure rippling between the two of them. They were rutting stags, squaring off and heedless to their own personal injury.

So, he borrowed something from Etienne -- one of the many things the seaborn had given him. He lifted his chin, feeling the pulse of blood just under his throat.

Go on, then. Strike the father of Rivenvood's children. Do it, so they see vhat kind of man you are. So Heda sees vhat kind of man you are.