The swirling dust, thick as a shroud, gradually began to thin, revealing the grim aftermath of the brutal, swift executions. All eyes strained, their breaths held captive, to discern the figures that emerged from the haze. Ralph Percy and Joseph Percy, father and elder brother, lay motionless on the polished marble, their lives brutally extinguished. Yet, amidst the collective horror that gripped the onlookers, Vincent Percy stood with an eerie, almost unnerving calm. His gaze, fixed upon the lifeless forms of his kin, betrayed no flicker of grief, no hint of sorrow, no trace of joy. It was a profound, unsettling stillness that emanated from him, a disturbing void where emotion should have been. In that singular, terrifying moment, it seemed as though some fundamental, inscrutable shift ha
