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There was no uproar, no rage swivelling within the boy’s organic shell. Yet the sword had spoken for him clear as day, and no room was left to ponder the young Lykoi male’s intention. The freshness of the air tasted of the red pouring out of his father’s warm body. Blonde ears drew back slightly, but the spray of maroon only spoiled the already dark appearance of the woman that had drawn up close. How strange; the eager rush of blood in a scene would normally encourage creatures to shy away. It was with minor difficulty the boy’s sunset gaze released his sire and rose to investigate present pack member. He was not nervous of her attendance, but he stood on uncertain grounds here. But the look in her honey-gold eyes did not speak of one that feared the monster.
Would Halo ever learn that he had avenged her? The hand on the sword’s handle wished to offer a twist, but he knew that it would be unnecessary to force more suffering on this man. Death was the ultimate end, and therefore the ultimate punishment. Or perhaps it was the only way to grant another being salvation and unlimited freedom. Itachi knew not what his father was, but the man deserved no less. He knew what he was, and knew that the world would likely have remained a better place if he had not been brought into this world. He was unwanted, but that was all right. Things were as they were, and while Itachi could not undo what had been done, he could seek his own flawed path of existence. Conor was not the first to taste injustice, and he would not be the last.
There were no words he wished to speak as the man’s soul started to escape its mortal body. The son had nothing to say to his father.
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