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... ored guards stood guard at the entrance, their eyes scanning their surroundings vigilantly.

"Hey, Old Zhao," the guard on the left addressed his partner. "What's for dinner after work? Kebabs sound good, don't they?"

The other guard replied curtly, "Let's discuss that later. The city's been on edge lately. Keep your eyes peeled, and don't let any troublemakers slip in!"

"Dedicated, aren't we? But what's the point with the Black Gold City hunting team lacking a leader?"

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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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