The Lord stared down at Adam's head.
It was burned almost as badly as his own body had been before regeneration, the skin blackened and its features warped by heat. But there was no mistaking it.
They had been the only two inside the explosion.
"Even in death," he muttered, voice low and venomous, "you still mock me."
He lifted his leg.
The intent to crush it was clear.
Then he stopped.
His foot hovered in the air as he stared at the head, eyes narrowing. A few seconds passed. Then his leg slowly lowered back to the ground.
Those people would want to dissect him, he thought coldly. I can't destroy the only specimen they'll ever get.
The restraint did nothing to cool his anger.
If anything, it made it worse.
Only now did the realization fully sink in.
I was played.
Played from the moment he stepped into that apartment. Played into beating a boy to the brink of death. Played into triggering something he didn't understand.
And worst of all…
He hadn't made Adam beg.
