Washing The Filth

One blow.

Then another.

And another.

Lucius stood at the corner watching Alaric plummet his cousin like a rag doll.

The man deserved more.

Jaron's head snapped to the side with every hit, blood splattering across the stone floor — but the bastard laughed. His lips split open, his teeth red with blood, but he grinned like a man who had lost his mind.

"That's it, cousin," Jaron croaked, chuckling despite the swelling in his face. "Let the demon prince out to play."

Alaric's vision blurred with fury. His knuckles throbbed, slick with Jaron's blood, but he didn't care. All he could see was Salviana — falling, screaming his name, the sheer terror in her voice as the wind tore through her hair.