The antiseptic odor of Duskhaven Hospital seemed to thicken, heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp scent of ozone from the recent violence. Dominic Mylod stood amidst the wreckage of human ego, looking down at the broken figures groveling at his feet. With a gesture that was as cold as it was final, he signaled his men to gather the semi-conscious antagonists.
"Stuff them back into the sacks," Dominic commanded, his voice a low, resonant baritone that echoed off the sterile tiles. "I’ve spared your miserable lives today, but do not mistake my mercy for weakness. Consider yourselves on a very short leash. When you leave this place, you had better develop a keen sense of discernment regarding what you choose to share with the world—and what you keep buried."
The victims, thei
