His superior might have put the disciple in his place on his behalf, but his fury had not yet subsided; he had to exact vengeance for his humiliation with his own hands. Whatever was passing through his mind, whatever methods of torture he was contemplating, were unknown, but the moment he stepped through the door, he found a majestic mountain before him.
Rebounding the moment he crashed into it, he pressed his back against the barrack wall and reached for his weapon. Mel stood directly before him; his faded red garments and filthy gray trousers drenched in blood, he was staring at him—and what a stare it was.
