His anger rose, then spurt out like steam escaping a teapot, causing him to shake intensely. He knew he shouldn’t reminisce, shouldn’t dwell on things of old, but sometimes all the self-counsel in the world was for naught.
On his knees, he bowed down until his forehead rested on the floor. He thought about how, as a child, he’d been taught of forgiveness, of pardons, and of mercy. He’d tried that way, had intended to protect it at all costs—had even sworn to do so. It was Ehyeh’s way. But eventually, he rejected it—when the cost became greater than what he wanted to pay.
When Daeva visited him in the darkest hour of his young adulthood and introduced him to a new way, he followed, delighted that the underlord offered an alternative—retribution . . . vengeance. Over the years, thoughts of how to see those goals come to fruition, festered inside. They caused him to gush imprecations. Curiously, those thoughts also offered a unique sense of . . . satisfaction. In truth, he’d grown most talented in the art of malediction—and best of all, he’d found the way to bring life to his own damning curses.
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