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... sed it to come and meet us?"

Philip asked with a weird expression.

"Sounds about right."

Sam nodded casually.

"You fucking idiot. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. Why would you waste your wishes on something like this, you retard." Philip stood up and almost slapped Sam across the face.

But then he realized all the beatings he took when he tried it in the past and came to a conclusion. He shouldn't hit Sam after he came from hell to see them, he is a ...

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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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