“Let me go, or I’ll kill him,” she gasped. “That’d be a poetic way to sign your own death warrant.” “You bluff with confidence, Herr Johann, but I’m not afraid of you. I know what you are.” “And what, exactly, do you think I am?” Johann hissed in her ear. “A homunculus of some sort,” Kanya answered, voice steady with the surety of absolute faith. “You’re born of his blood, and controlled by it. When he dies, so will you.”
