He laughed then, finally, because it was a defensive mechanism, and because it was better than the alternative. It was a dirty sound, too rough and too dry, and the traces of a demon's grin tugged at the edges of his lips as he did so. It was a dangerous thing to do, laugh. And when he opened eyes, he could see Bane clearly in the snow, standing with some pretend defiance. He had come closer, and the hybrid would have sworn that he could see his breath on the wind and his shadow on the snow. (It was just a matter of standing up and tearing out his throat.) The laughter echoed through the quiet forest and a half-sneer remained on the blind man's face when it faded away. Of course Tsunami had been crazy; he had always been. They both had been. But Laruku didn't think the grey wolf was dead. Things were never that easy. Neither of them were that lucky.
I killed your brother,
Laruku said, almost flippantly. That probably led to your mother's death.
Phasma had been innocent of everything, but he had taken everything away from her. The guilt was a ball tucked away in the back of his mind, but that wasn't what he was thinking about anymore. His tail twitched from underneath his blanket and he clenched one of his fists. He laughed again, but it was clearly bitter. I'm better off dead,
he told the boy, and drew one knee to his chest, scarred arm hanging over it. Why don't you change the world?
No one wanted to change the world anymore.