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... nd his group strolled confidently out of Emerald Castle—

Not far from the castle, atop a desolate, craggy mountain, a towering woman stood. Her body was barely covered, her long hair whipping in the wind, her figure sinuous and dangerously alluring. Her face was striking—seductive, almost inhumanly beautiful—but in her hand, she gripped a massive whip, glowing red-hot like it had been forged from molten lava, its jagged edges radiating menace.

Suddenly, she snapped her head up, e ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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